More riveting than magnetism?

So goes the description of Herbert Glossner, as he talks of light directed through a glass prism in a physics class. The writer, a frequent contributor to booklet notes for ECM Records, is using this as a parallel for the music of Arvo Pärt, who himself has said, "I could compare my music to white light, in which all the colours are included". As Pärt reaches his 75th birthday it seems a good time to look again at a composer who to this day proves divisive.

There are some who would say the simplicity of Part's much vaunted 'tintinnabuli' style, relegated to 'holy minimalism' by lazy journalists, steers him away from the idea of any harmonic development. As Glossner points out, though, it is wrong to speak of tonality in the case of Pärt - better, perhaps to look at the triad itself that he has chosen with which to operate in a particular piece.

'Fratres' is a great example here. It is an incredibly flexible piece, a meditation just shy of ten minutes that has been arranged for all kinds of instrumental combinations, from violin and piano to string orchestra. It is definitely the original setting of twelve cellos that works the best, though, and this appears on the first ECM disc to feature the music of Pärt, which remains their most important classical music release.

In this version, 'Fratres' stays rooted to its pedal note of 'G' throughout, making the most of the cellos' open strings and casting a haunting spell as the melody repeats, the harmony bending in response to the melody. The cellists themselves gently knock their instruments at the end of each phrase, giving a natural resonance for a helpful punctuation point.

Since 'Fratres' and 'Cantus In Memoriam Benjamin Britten', the first examples of his 'tintinnabuli' style, Pärt has been incredibly popular for a modern composer, and his Third symphony, an important junction in his output, shows how he has drawn from early music to inform his harmonic and melodic thinking.

This too is clear from the St John Passion, which I saw at the Proms last week (reviewed on Classical Source), though less so in the Fourth symphony (which I reviewed over on musicOMH), given its UK premiere at the festival by the Philharmonia and Esa-Pekka Salonen.

It made me wonder if the adulation he receives in the West these days means he spends less time in his home country of Estonia, and if his music and its effects are now more Hollywood than Tallinn. In the two concerts I have wondered at the St John Passion and its subtle repetition and meditation, spun over an hour and ten minutes, then have scratched my head rather more at the structure and apparent lack of climax in the Fourth Symphony. This work, subtitled Los Angeles, shows just how far from home Pärt is now operating, and though its style is unmistakeably his, it feels much more preplanned than a piece such as 'Cantus' or 'Fratres'.

It will be interesting to see if Pärt continues to respond to overseas commissions in this way. When he's at his best his music truly is captivating and entrancing, but it seems that as with so many contemporary composers the early works are the best – or, for now, the best understood. Time will tell, but I will continue to head to his music of the 1970s and 1980s for an assurance of originality and truly wonderful other-worldliness.

Schumann - a birthday wish

Two centuries ago this year, one of my favourite composers was born – Robert Schumann. His influence on his contemporaries, notably Brahms, is considerable, while Elgar, Shostakovich and more recently Kurtág are just three composers to acknowledge his influence and recognise his subtle innovations and melodic skills.
In this month's Gramophone magazine, the cellist Steven Isserlis, an ardent exponent of the composer, delights in his unpredictable style, focussing on more unsung pieces such as the piano trios to prove his point, and pointing out that these, along with several Schumann chamber works, are now regular features of the concert repertoire.

And yet it remains fashionable for journalists and critics to take pot shots at him, and they find it all too easy to criticise orchestration, melodic style, harmonic invention and form. On one of the sites for which I regularly write, I have found three separate reviewers condemning the 'Rhenish' symphony as a deeply flawed work. One even goes as far as to say that 'most famous for his lieder, Schumann's skills as a symphonist are questionable to say the least'.

This, in my view at least, is utter rubbish - whichever of the composer’s four symphonies you choose to listen to. Steven Isserlis also argues on the composer's behalf, both in the characteristically passionate Gramophone piece and in an interview I did with him for musicOMH, where he affirmed Schumann to be his favourite composer.

In my opinion, Schumann proves a highly gifted melodist, an extremely perceptive mood setter, and a composer with a beautiful harmonic turn to his writing. Many of his works bear this out - and as I write I continue to discover more. Two examples will suffice, however, despite the temptation to turn to the piano music – the first the glorious Adagio and Allegro for horn or cello and piano, and the second the unfairly maligned 'Rhenish'.

That no less a figure than Oliver Knussen performed the symphony at the Proms recently shows how much esteem in which he holds the work. In the best performances this piece bursts from the blocks with an expression of undiluted joy, and in the two period instrument performances I have been lucky enough to enjoy that has emphatically been the case.

Sure, there are plenty of notes at times, and the good tunes are repeated relatively frequently, but the notion these techniques are somehow backward is a hackneyed one. Indeed, when Mahler revisited the symphonies to change some of the orchestration and form this was out of love and admiration, so that he could use them as a conductor – a fact lost on several writers who have used this as another stick with which to beat the composer.

So let's hear it for one of the 19th century's true musical greats and finest composers, and let's hope he gets his due recognition, despite the current state of misunderstanding.

Recomposing Mahler

Deutsche Grammophon's occasional series 'Recomposing' invites recognised electronic producers to offer a fresh take on their chosen piece of classical music. Carl Craig and Jimi Tenor are previous targets in the series, but when the label asked Matthew Herbert to contribute, they may not have envisaged that he would go to such lengths to air his thoughts on the Adagio from Mahler's Tenth Symphony.

Herbert takes the recording made by Giuseppe Sinopoli and the Philharmonia as his starting point, and feeds it through his own studio technology. I listened to his reinterpretation for the first time late last night, conditions ideal for one of the finest nocturnal pieces of nocturnal music I have experienced.

Herbert bravely starts with the famous, all-encompassing chord from the symphony's climax, but floats it past the listener like a thick cloud, completely out of focus. There is then a sudden cut to a relatively scratchy viola playing the movement's main theme, recorded live at Mahler's graveside – a typical touch of Herbert reverence and invention (some would say eccentricity) rolled in to one. The movement then unfolds as you would expect, musically, but spatially we're on the move, tumbling forward through space, then suddenly stopping to take in an atmosphere, then zooming in on a micro theme.

With Herbert using the principal material early on it would seem there is nowhere to go, but these spatial variations are intriguing. They become disconcerting on headphones, like a piece of David Lynch film music, and several times I found myself looking round for noises that were not there. Herbert does, however, keep the serenity of the original. There is more than a hint of Damien Hirst, especially in the idea of recording some of the symphony being played in a coffin - but Herbert stops well short of the artist's sensationalist tactics, composing out of reverence for Mahler rather than a desire to shock. And yes, he is 'composing' in the true meaning of the word, taking the elements of the music that hint at an extra dimension - the harmonic advances, the silvery wisps of melody and the occasionally sudden gear change from slow to manic - before a restful return is made. Herbert gets all of that with modern recording techniques that move between the affectionate, the macabre and the downright strange.

The focus on spatial awareness means Herbert can pan out from the orchestra when he wants to, taking us underwater, out of body, out in to the open. It's a reimagining of the traditional 'sat down' concert experience, a response taken on the move. Sometimes the bass is really ramped up, with a sudden sense of anger in the fourth section, where the searing violins pierce a raft of warped distortion in the middle.
Perhaps inevitably the tension lags, and a passing hearse (recorded live, of course) offers relatively little, until the chord itself comes back in its proper place. Here the effect is massive, with everything to the max, especially the trumpet - and then the hammering drums and something like a massive windscreen wiper get to work, the only time Herbert employs his own percussion. The comedown is truly spooky and unsettling, before the music ends in weightlessness. And then, a door shuts – a simple and poignant moment.

So why go to this level of description? It is an attempt to show how much Herbert has put into his view of Mahler's final completed symphonic movement, a kind of a musical analysis of his reaction. It proves to be fascinating stuff, if a little macabre at times, but shows ultimately just how much electronic music and classical music rub shoulders. Composers of the former kind are much more plugged in than you might think.

A Postcard from Paris - The World's First Musical Art Gallery

An intriguing first session of the IAMA conference in the Cité De La Musique ten days ago was bolstered by the considerable presence of Pierre Boulez. We saw the presentations of new concert halls in Paris, Porto and Miami, with the latter visible on this link: //www.nws.edu/NewCampus/ImageGallery.html

Being Miami, intentionally or not, image comes right to the fore. In this case the images are those projected onto parts of the new concert hall, to complement or accompany the music made by the New World Symphony, or as projections to accompany DJ mixes.

This last point is worth exploring, as more and more classical venues seem to be throwing wide their horizons and casting off their aversions to the other genres, embracing the possibilities instead.

I was briefly mulling over this while having a beer to Tom Middleton's DJ set before the Stereo MCs' gig on the South Bank the other week, the Royal Festival Hall seemingly able to adapt itself to all kinds of music without being compromised. The Clore Ballroom had been turned into a club, as had the RFH itself a few months earlier when Carl Craig came to town.

It's encouraging to see this cross pollenisation taking place. I wonder if it means we'll see Mozart symphonies at the Ministry of Sound, or Paul Weller playing at the Wigmore Hall?

Both are unlikely of course, but in this session, Pierre Boulez came up with several pithy phrases of wisdom. One was the observation that his teacher, Olivier Messiaen, used colours for chords. This was all very well, Boulez said, but he did not operate in the same way. Instead he chose to say he was not sceptical about the concept, but actively negative - the same way he felt about the new concert hall. "I don't want to see the open mouth, that is why I am not a doctor!" he offered as a comparison.

Proof, then, that there are many ways of taking in a classical concert - and that this new approach is going to walk a fine line between bringing in new concertgoers and frustrating the current ones.

More thoughts on the IAMA conference to follow anon...

Port O'Brien 1, Arsenal 0

Music or football?

It's a question I occasionally have to grapple with – and am expecting to more this year than most, with the World Cup coming up in June. The most recent conundrum occurred on Tuesday night just gone. With Barcelona and Arsenal looking to reprise their amazing Champions' League game from the week before, where they pretty much turned football into an art form, I found myself double booked with Port O'Brien at the Borderline.

Now for all sorts of reasons it hadn't been a good day – the normal sort of post-Easter blues, having drunk and eaten too much over the holiday – and with a headache as well I was beginning to think I'd made the wrong choice. This was made worse by a quick glance at the phone on my way out to see it was already 1-1 in the football with just half an hour gone – and that two of my trains had been cancelled. Thankfully I rolled up at the Borderline – or down the stairs – just as the band were coming on.

And there it all changed. Seems Port O'Brien had experienced a day far worse than mine, as half their band were still back in Oakland, having decided not to tour for some reason. They had two freshers out on the stage, their guitars and equipment were playing up, and the odds, even with a sell-out crowd, were stacking up against them.
They reckoned without charismatic front man Van Pierszalowski, who showed us just how much he believes in his own music and lyrics. Giving him an ideal balance were the softly spoken trio around him – and it soon became clear all they wanted to do was play music and sing their songs. It wasn't long before the crowd were smiling, laughing at his jokes – but also appreciating the raw emotion he was putting into the darker songs from last year's 'Threadbare' album.

Capping it off was one of those classic audience participation moments, as we were invited to holler at the tops of our voices to one of the band's best songs, I Woke Up Today. It was an exhilarating experience, and for the first time in the evening I felt sure in the knowledge I'd made the right choice, a choice borne out by Arsenal's 4-1 defeat. Proof, perhaps, that music has the power to reach places even football can't get to!

The Artful Fare Dodgers

It's taken me a while, but thanks to recent reviewing for musicOMH.com and DMC Update I've finally come around to the idea that, in electronic music at least, dubstep represents a big part of the future.

Initially I was tempted to write it off as a bit of a one hit wonder, like 'two step' (or 'UK garage', 'speed garage', or - cringe - 'raggage', as it was briefly known in the late '90s). But then it occurred to me that particular style, whatever you call it, hasn't really died out either. If anything, dubstep takes its lead from the likes of Tuff Jam, Double 99 and 187 Lockdown, all prominent names in 1998 or thereabouts.

Few styles evoke the empty streets of night time South London so vividly. I remember falling asleep once on the night bus, missing my stop and waking up in Penge (don't ask!). The Bug's 'London Zoo' album was still on the headphones – and it seemed totally appropriate to be listening to that, if not a tad scary once the lights were off and the bus empty. Caspa, too, had quite an effect, and so did the recent album from Scuba that I finished reviewing last night. This record, his third if you include a recent DJ mix, shows that dubstep is actually a really flexible musical form. Along with the likes of D-Bridge and Instra:mental, whose Fabric compilation I recently reviewed for DMC Update, Scuba has brought it into focus alongside house and drum 'n' bass, reminding me a bit of the music of Photek in the late 1990s. When done at its best like this, dubstep might have a pretty basic set of elements, but it creates a mean and moody atmosphere.

The pinnacle of the genre remains Burial, and that wonderful pair of albums, thickly layered with fog and not a little paranoid. His approach is among the darkest, with little upward movement through either record, but the music is deeply emotive. Skream and Benga more club friendly, and we await their second albums with interest. But proof that dubstep is here to stay comes with the fact most of its main producers have now made and released successful second albums, carrying them off to better effect than their first. Very few areas of dance music can claim that as an achievement – big beat certainly couldn't, nor drum 'n' bass, and definitely not UK garage, as none were really suited to the long playing format.

Dubstep's next move, then, will be well worth watching. While some of it might be a touch on the bleak side, this is understated but very powerful music, especially when powered up on headphones late at night, whatever night bus you're on...

Oversteps and step overs

Recently I've been listening a lot to the music of Autechre, marvelling at their way with sound, colour and structure. Their new album 'Oversteps' is out next week, and a few weeks ago I interviewed the band's Rob Brown about their music.

For a duo who profess to having no musical education, the instincts for musical motifs and their development is uncanny – and just goes to prove that while musical schooling can be incredibly useful, a sixth sense when writing it is as important, if not more so. The band are far from alone in this – many of today's top pop / electronic artists don't have any musical education, surviving on raw talent, instinct and experience. It's like football I guess – some of the world's best players don't need to train, while others, David Beckham for instance, got to an even higher level through relentless practice.

It's one of the areas where pop and classical differ most. Classical music is taught thoroughly, and opera singers especially are advised not to approach the music of certain composers – Wagner for instance – until they have built up a solid experience and allowed their voices to develop fully. It explains why many of the leading singers are in their fifties at least.

But back to Autechre. In the interview with Rob Brown, he confirmed my sentiments. The pair are at their happiest in the studio, trying out ideas, moulding them together, seeing what works and what doesn't, drawing on their influences and imagination to bring something totally unique.

If I heard their music without knowing their background, I would suspect them of having a classical past, and when reviewing previous album 'Quaristice' two years back, suggested a similarity in approach to the music of Anton Webern, due to the way they use small pockets of sound and melody as part of a bigger whole. No Autechre album proceeds without a challenge to the listener, but this is music that rewards those prepared to take up the baton.

Ultimately, though, their music proves a great thing – that to be successful, you don't necessarily need to train first. A little instinct goes an incredibly long way.