Peter Bergman, R.I.P.

One of my most precious inspirations, since my late teens, was/is the LA comedy quartet, the Firesign Theatre. Though their most significant work was done in the late 60s and early 70s, they remained a potent, if intermittent comedic force to the present day. They had no peers apart from Monty Python and probably had as much influence on me as an electronic artist as any composers. A week doesn't go by that I don't listen to them. Their best recordings are suffused with a kind of exuberant wordplay, whimsy and multi-layered complexity that was entirely new in comedy. Peter Bergman was the organizing force that brought them into being.

Without filling too much space, it's fair to say that Bergman had an eventfulness of life and career that exceeded that of almost anyone. He was present at or an instigator of many watershed moments of recent cultural history. He asked questions, connected dots, and celebrated life. His most recent activity was to revive his long-standing Radio Free Oz program as a daily podcast. In its current form it was a melange of political ad parodies, insightful commentary and effervescent humor. I subscribed, enthusiastically. Heading into his early seventies, the notion of slowing down seemed unknown to him. Aware of the past, he look forward. I thought he provided a good example for how to live out one's later years. The LA Times obit provides a good precis of his life and work. And this quote concluded his last podcast before he passed away:

“Take heart, dear friends. We are passing through the darkening of the light. We’re gonna make it and we’re going to make it together. Don’t get ground down by cynicism.

Don’t let depression darken the glass through which you look. This is a garden we live in. A garden seeded with unconditional love. And the tears of the oppressed, and the tears of the frustrated, and the tears of the good will spring those seeds. The flag has been waived. It says occupy. Occupy Wall Street. Occupy the banks. Occupy the nursing homes. Occupy Congress.

Occupy the big law offices. Occupy the lobbyists. Occupy…yourself. Because that’s where it all comes together. I pledge to you, from this moment on, whatever it means, I’m going to occupy myself. I love you. See ya tomorrow.”

Return to Blogging

Well. It's been a while, hasn't it? I'm not exactly sure what particular event prompted me to resume blogging (or that there even WAS any particular event), but the impetus has been building for some time. So when Captain Beefheart's long-lost 'Bat Chain Puller' album was finally issued by the Zappa Family Trust, I knew it was time. So, stay tuned for an upcoming posting about that. Looking down the old blog postings, I note that the last time I blogged about music was in 2006. I had fewer gray hairs. My kids were still waking every four hours or so, and I was in my fifth month of a year-long sleep deprivation. My doctorate was unfinished, and seemed likely to remain so. I hadn't been swept into the vortex of international minimalism conferences or overwhelmed by a strange compulsion to launch micro-label. I weighed less.

I'm pretty sure the world doesn't need a new music blog, or even an old one redux. I read some pretty good ones, and mine is a moon-cast shadow in comparison. Apropos of not too much though, I still occasionally feel compelled to lob a few thoughts into the intervoid. These will change nothing, but make me feel better in some way. Edging warily into my sixth decade I still have a sense of wonder and bafflement about music. I'm fascinated by a lot of things that don't seem to add up to anything. But for me the guiding principle of what I choose to write about is simple: "I found this moving or inspiring or valuable or provocative, and I think you might too. Here it is."

Thanks for reading and listening.

Magma

Back around 1976, when I was busy exploring all the outlandish prog-rock that I could get my hands on, I would go to extraordinary lengths to acquire some cool new LP that I hadn't yet heard. Obsessed, I once drove about 120 miles to buy a single Captain Beefheart record. While I was on that trip, elsewhere in the store I spotted a weirdly cool album cover, a double LP set called 'Magma Live.' I knew nothing about Magma, but I bought it anyway, mainly because the band boasted two keyboard players, a violinist, and most of the songs were really long. This seemed promising to me. I got the record home, and found that I did indeed like the album. In fact, for sheer strangeness, the group went toe-to-toe with Captain Beefheart.

Magma was formed in 1969 by a French jazz drummer named Christian Vander, whose main musical influence was the late-period music of John Coltrane, along with classical composers like Carl Orff and Bela Bartok. Vander's father was a well-known jazz pianist, and the young Vander got to meet many major musicians as a youth, including Coltrane. He was also fascinated by classical music, especially Orff and Bartok. The membership of Magma as never very stable, except for Vander and his wife Stella, who sang. (They can be seen at the left in the picture below.) Also, a vocalist of remarkable range and flexibility anchored the group during their most productive years, Klaus Blasquiz. (Seen to the far right.) Others came and went, but these stayed.

Vander had a vision (literally, according to some accounts) of an ecologically devastated Earth, and he began to compose an epic science-fiction saga as a sort of metaphor, a warning for mankind. Realizing that the French language was entirely unsuited for the sort of music that he envisioned (not enough consonants for the percussive sounds he heard), he created his own, called Kobaian, after the planet Kobaia, which is central to this saga. All of Magma's early albums are sung in this language, which has a very Slavic/Germanic quality. (One can even find a Kobaian/English dictionary online!) Klaus Blasquiz proved to be as committed to this musical vision as Vander was, and his contribution to this concept was integral. His singing is quite extraordinary, employing falsetto, "fry-tones" and other extended means of expression.


Magma, circa 1975.

Back in the late 70s and '80s, I collected pretty much everything that was available by this group. I owned at least ten or twelve albums of the band back then. When cds came along, and I simultaneously went through some intense personal upheaval, I sold them all. I hardly thought about this band for at least twenty years or so. A few weeks ago, I was surfing around the iTunes store and I thought I'd see if there were any Magma albums. I figured this was a total waste of time, but I typed the name in the search window and hit "enter." And nothing came up. Nothing, except about 17 albums or so, and several of them very inexpensive. I sampled a few of them and found that they sounded even better than than I remembered. A bunch of downloads later, I had a new collection. And Magma's music was even more impressive than ever. Further revelation came in the newly released live recordings from the BBC in 1974. Wow. (And not expensive, either.)

When I first listened to Magma, I had good instincts about music, but no technical or theoretical means of assessing what I heard. Now, they make even more of an impression, because I can clearly hear the polyrhythmic intricacies that Vander concocted. They made many fine albums, but for a one-disc intro to their music, Magma Live is the best. It features one of the best lineups that Vander ever put together, playing at an incredible level of virtuosity. The first track, the 30-minute "Kohntark" is a tour-de-force of visceral playing, welded to extremely sensitive compositional technique. Vander's drums are here better recorded than on some of their studio albums, too. Magma differs from other jazz-rock bands of their time in their singular musical vision, which eclipsed any individual aims in the group. There is no ego here. Soloing is minimal, or tightly controlled, according to Klaus Blasquiz solos were usually composed out by Vander. And the physical stamina that they had in playing pieces like this, with precision and endurance far beyond most bands, is truly exhilarating.


Christian Vander, today.

iTunes will be my downfall...

I don't have an iPod. My wife does, my daughters Rachel and Eileen each have one, most of my composer cronies have one. But I do have a Mac and I use iTunes, and so a while back I started nosing around the iTunes store to see what I could find. Not much, at first. But, eventually I pulled out a few British Invasion hits that I wanted to drive around with, and then scooped up the Patti Smith tunes that I really couldn't live without, and then I started looking in earnest for all of the strange stuff that occupied my attention for about ten years, from 1976 to 1986. (All of the LPs that I no longer have, but wish I still did...) Didn't find much at first. But recently iTunes has expanded their catalog by a tremendous amount, and the selection has become a bit frightening, especially for an old prog-rock fan like me. Here's what I've been downloading:

Van der Graaf Generator. (See my earlier postings on this band) Most of the band's catalog is available on iTunes, along with bonus tracks. Remastered and sounding as relevant as ever. Their live album 'Vital' is downright scary in its visceral impact. And now it's available again in its original form.

NEU! A German duo consisting of two original members of Kraftwerk who left after the first album. "Motorik" was the term they coined for their style, and it fits. Their first album is remarkable, their second has some dreadful tracks along with some brilliant ones, and a later EP was excellent. Thanks to iTunes, I only buy the good stuff.

Magma. I have to say that I searched iTunes for this band with absolute certainty that nothing would turn up. Nothing did, except something like seventeen albums. If you know who Magma is, the astonishment that this statement should evoke needs no explanation. For those who don't: Magma was/is a French band led by jazz-rock drummer Christian Vander, and featured a constantly-changing lineup. Their unique sound was mainly owed to the fact that their primary influences were late John Coltrane and Carl Orff. They also sang in a language of their own invention, epic compositions of a science-fiction saga that I never quite understood. A band that helped define the term "acquired taste," but somehow I acquired it, and now I can relish their stuff yet again. They sound even better than I remember, maybe because now I can more easily perceive all of the polymetric stuff that they were doing back then. Expect a separate posting on this band soon. 'Magma Live' is their best.

Other stuff that I'm astounded to find on iTunes:

Captain Beefheart. iTunes has a great selection of his stuff, and I hope more will arrive soon. A thrill was finding "Here I Am, I Always Am," in both demo and released versions. This amazing song, which I've long wanted in digital form, is notable for being one of the few pop songs with metric modulation.

Ange: a French prog band that was really quite awful, but I liked 'em for a while. I could try them again, if I want to.

Faust: a German band whose LPs were amazing pieces of audio and visual art. Minimalist and noisy, they've recorded a lot since I stopped paying attention to them.

Be Bop Deluxe: a British prog/pop combo led by guitar virtuoso Bill Nelson. Lots of their stuff still sounds great. If they start putting out Bill Nelson's gigantic solo catalog, I'll be really excited.

Cecil Taylor: Lots of Cecil's recent recordings are out on iTunes. Frank Zappa once said: "If you want too learn how to play the piano, buy a Cecil Taylor record."

Tangerine Dream. I loved this band, up until about 1980 or so. Some of their early stuff still appeals, and they are a bigger influence on my own music than I'd probably care to admit. 'Stratosfear' and 'Rubicon' were as good as anything that Pink Floyd did, I think. 'Phaedra,' too.

I'm sure I'll discover more soon. Expect updates.

'Earth Dances' anew

Sir Harrison Birtwistle is a crotchety composer fom England's north, who grew up near Manchester. He and I both share a working-class background, the clarinet as our main instrument, and a tendency to compose highly linear music. I owe Sir Harrison a debt of gratitude, as my encounter with his music enabled me to move forward as a composer in a way I would have not found otherwise. 'Secret Theatre' in particular affected me deeply, and I recently travelled to Rochester to hear it performed live at Eastman. I don't listen to his music as often as I once did, but there are a few pieces that I greatly admire. 'Earth Dances' is one such piece, and this new recording with Pierre Boulez conducting the Ensemble Modern Orchestra is phenomenal. It's available for download from iTunes. It's been available in Europe for over a year, but has not been issued stateside yet. When I learned of the iTunes release, I didn't hesitate.

'Earth Dances' is a sort of "'Rite of Spring' on steroids," at least that's how I have described the piece to my friends over the years. The work (for large orchestra) is in one continuous thirty-three minute movement, with the material unfolding in six different layers, at varying speeds, evoking the relentless geologic heavings of the earth. A glance at the score shows this easily, with the work's lapidary construction as visible as it is audible. Obtaining clarity within and between all of these layers is an impossible job for a conductor, but Boulez makes it sound easy. The two earlier versions, conducted by Eötvös and Dohnanyi, made quite an impression on me, but this is the first recording where I felt I was really hearing everything with the right balances. An overwhelming work just became that much more perceptibly overwhelming.

György Ligeti

Today is a sad one, due to the passing of composer György Ligeti, the best of the best. His music occupies a unique place in our world. Devoid of sentiment, whimsical, bizarre, and utterly astonishing in its continuous discovery of new sounds where there seemed to be none left to be discovered, we are left with no one who can fill his shoes. In my years of studying music, I have yet to encounter a fellow composer who did not admire his genius, which was to learn everything from everyone, from Brahms to Stockhausen to Steve Reich to Nancarrow to African pygmies. I heard him lecture at Cornell in 1993 and literally swooned when he played a cassette recording of the second movement of his then brand-new Violin Concerto.

Tom Verlaine Returns

Photo by Barry Brecheisen. From http://www.marquee.demon.co.uk/

This week I learned of not one, but two new releases by Tom Verlaine, guitarist from the amazing NY punk band Television. These, after a hiatus of fourteen years. Verlaine has been active all this time, composing film scores and touring, but has resisted a "careerist" sort of path. Finally lured back into the studio, he has brought forth a complementary pair of albums, reflecting his various musical inclinations. 'Around' is a collection of instrumental vignettes, spacious and atmospheric. Listeners looking for guitaristic fireworks will be disappointed, at least to judge from a couple of the customer reviews at Amazon. But if you're listening for exquisite tone, and a perfect sort of inflection and timing, don't hesitate. Verlaine is joined by Television bandmates Billy Ficca on drums and "the illustrious, the ever-elegant" Fred Smith on bass. 'Songs and Other Things' is just that. Here he's joined by sidemen Jimmy Ripp on guitar, Jay Dee Daugherty on drums, and Fred Smith. While I wouldn't rate this as Verlaine's best solo effort, it does offer a satisfying handful of new material. His playing is undiminished, and his poetic lyrics are as good as ever. At this point in his career, he seems far more concerned with understatement and indirection in his playing than any display of overwhelming virtuosity. He remains one of the most musicianly guitarists to be found anywhere, and I'm glad to have these new documents of his art.