Preparing for Listening Exams

Hello again, dear colleagues!

I’ve taken quite a few listening tests in my time here at Redlands, and I’ve been asked to supply some advice in preparation for those of you who haven’t experienced them before. I realize our test is two days away, so sorry for the timing, but hopefully you will find a few of these pointers helpful in your final preparations and for future studying. Here are some techniques that I use and that I find beneficial, in no particular order:

1) Listen, listen, listen. I can’t stress this enough. I try to start listening through the works as soon as they are posted, a few every couple of days until I’ve made it through all of them. Then I repeat, many times. You can listen at your desk, while you’re walking between classes, in your car, wherever—I tend to use the pieces as “background music” when I can, perhaps so that they work their way into my subconscious more, but I make absolutely sure that I have spent time just listening as well. Your most attentive and comprehensive listening will not be accomplished while multi-tasking.

2) Make a list of all the compositions and their respective composers, and organize them into categories based on their instrumentation. Don’t be afraid to research the pieces if you are unsure! This helps me identify the likely “problem” pieces—the ones that share the same instrumentation, and therefore cannot be identified by instrumentation alone, and that will most likely require more attention so that you can confidently distinguish them. Can you hum one of the main motives of Varese’s Density 21.5, and then the melody from Debussy’s Syrinx, without comparing them first? And what makes Takemitsu’s Voice clearly stand out from the previous two? Those are the kinds of questions I try to ask myself.

3) Identify parts of the music that are really striking to you, for better or for worse, and in any way possible. This can range from extramusical associations (such as Daugherty’s Desi, which immediately makes me think of Ricky Ricardo from I Love Lucy ever since I read its program notes) to musical references (Tower’s Tres Lent [in memoriam Olivier Messiaen] reminds me of a movement from Messiaen’s Quatuor pour la fin du temps). It can be as simple as the constant presence of nature sounds in Schafer’s Wolf Music: Aubade for Solo Clarinet, or more specific: the monophonic unison line toward the end of the first movement of Bartok’s String Quartet No. 2 really stands out to me personally, for example.

4) Check out the music score for study and listen along. A library of our size obviously isn’t going to have all or even most of them, but it’s worth a try. I actually have the three string quartets checked out—sorry, I definitely didn’t mean to hog them. Please let me know if you want to borrow them!

5) Familiarize yourself with the prominent motives of each piece. I was having some difficulty distinguishing parts of the Debussy and Ravel string quartets—the melodies tended to mush together in my mind, despite having listened to the works several times back to back. I finally tried to sing the melodies, along with the recording and then by myself, and I was surprised at how helpful that approach was. I had never tried that before, but now I can play through each in my head much more successfully. Some people find that writing out the motives is helpful, too; that was a popular method when our class had a test once on all the Beethoven symphonies.

6) Did I mention… listen? I personally would not be able to cram for a listening test, and I don’t think that many of us can. Listen well in advance, and listen often! And make sure to devote a fairly equal amount of time to each work. By this I mean that it’s all too easy to group them into the ones that you really like and the ones that you don’t like as much, and then “forget” about the latter group as you focus on the former. I’ve been there (…Beethoven symphonies…) and it can be pretty detrimental, so give them all a fair chance!

I’m sure I’m forgetting things, but that’s a basic overview of my process. Please feel free to contribute any study and preparation techniques that you find helpful!

Good luck, and happy listening!

The Legend of Zelda: Symphonic Poem

I know there are a few individuals other than myself in our class who are slightly obsessed with Zelda and its music, so I thought I'd share this fascinating creation: The Legend of Zelda in Symphonic Poem form!

I haven't had much time to look too deeply into it yet, but I've listened to snippets from most of the movements and have gleaned that, in the very least, it is quite a progressive arrangement (courtesy of Jonne Valtonen). There are some interesting comments at the bottom of this page, which also contains Youtube videos of the 5 movements performed live by Symphonic Legends in Germany.

Here's the first movement:



They even have a full choir! The fourth movement begins with a very lovely vocal solo (some of you may recognize the Light Spirit's Theme from Twilight Princess).



Just from what I've listened to, this arrangement seems to contain numerous juxtapositions and settings of themes, which actually seems to be a contributing factor to some of the commentators' opinions of disfavor - I, however, think it's an interesting and perhaps necessary approach to arranging a work that's already been done so many times. Regardless, I believe that it's important to bring a genre like video game music into the concert hall, through any compositional means!

Hopefully this will serve as some interesting listening even for those of you who are not specifically Zelda fans!

The Music of George Crumb

_{Fig. 1: George Crumb!}

One of my favorite composers, whose music I can turn to time and time again for inspiration and listening pleasure, is George Crumb. Crumb (b. 1929) is an American composer often labeled as avant-garde, a genre essentially devoted to pushing boundaries and expanding what is traditionally even thought of as “music.” Unless you are a devout lover of the avant-garde, however, I sometimes fear that this label carries a certain stigma about it, namely that creations of the avant-garde may be too difficult to understand by the average listener, or worse yet, that they are not even worth the time it would take to try to understand them.

I don’t deny that avant-garde music can be shocking, but certainly it is worth far more than an immediate rejection by those who find that it irredeemably tests their personal definition of “music.” The first work of Crumb’s that I ever heard was Black Angels (1970) for electric (or amplified) string quartet, and my first reaction to the slicing wails fleeing from my computer speakers was also one of shock. Seeing the score later definitely opened my eyes; Crumb is one of those composers whose scores will revolutionize your perspective of each work. Most of his scores are beautifully handcrafted and explore a phenomenal range of extended techniques or external effects independent of the instrumentation (such as vocalizations by non-vocal performers). Without looking at the score of Black Angels or reading the program notes, it’s highly doubtful that a listener could detect, for example, the numerology woven into the construction of the piece through Crumb’s emphasis of the numbers 7 and 13. Seeing this particular score also increased my appreciation of the numerous extended techniques demanded of the quartet. Here is Part I: Departure of this work.


_{Fig. 2: George Crumb, Black Angels, Part I: Departure}

If you listen closely after the 4’30” mark, you’ll be able to hear several quotes of Dies Irae (which are also helpfully identified in the score).

This brings me to another point that became clear to me as I analyzed more of Crumb’s work: in addition to his extended or unusual techniques, he also uses less radical methods such as traditional forms and musical quotations. In Black Angels, for example, Pavana Lachrymae section references the traditional pavane, a slow, processional dance; and as I mentioned before, Dies Irae is also later quoted.

For these reasons alone I find it difficult to pigeonhole Crumb as solely avant-garde. His compositional style may be better described as a synthesis of tradition and innovation.

Above all, what appeals to me is the organic nature of his music. Crumb is very much concerned with the “sound spaces” in which compositions grow, and often this is assisted by his unique and exotic instrumentations and prevalent use of extended techniques. This is likely the most significant reason that his music is such a great inspiration to me (this, and his remarkable ability of text expression and depiction, in his lyric settings). One of my favorite moments in Ancient Voices of Children is in the fourth movement, in the beginning of which he creates a beautiful texture over a low marimba drone with a gentle melody for the soprano and an interesting timbral exchange between a harmonica and a vocal effect from the percussionists. (Sorry, I can’t find a Youtube sample of this, but a recording should be available on Naxos.)

Processional (the piece on our midterm listening!) is the first piano piece by Crumb I’ve heard that does not delve into inside-piano techniques. It is essentially structured as A B A’ B’: the first section contains a constant rhythmic pulse and motivic groups that emerge over this texture, gradually growing more complex, and the second section features percussive block chords leaping through the piano’s registers and interesting echo effects created through sharp decrescendos or rapid descents or ascents. The first six notes of this work function as an underlying harmonic structure throughout the rest of the piece, although this set undergoes several modulations, and it tends to imply parts of a wholetone scale (the intervallic relationship is M2, M2, M2, m3, M2, M2, M2 and because of the m3 leap, it actually seems to capture one half of each wholetone scale, i.e. Gb, Ab, Bb, Db, Eb, F). The only extended technique that this piece utilizes is the creation of harmonics in the “B” sections by silently depressing the exact chord that is played by the other hand, except in a different register. The result is subtle, but contributes to that kind of “echo effect” that recurs throughout these sections. Here’s a sample from the score where this technique occurs (also demonstrating Crumb’s pristine hand notation):

_{Fig. 3: George Crumb’s Processional; page 3, end of system 2}

Overall, Processional successfully explores the colors of the piano through sections of contrasting articulation and harmonic palettes.

I could rave on and on about George Crumb, but I’ll refrain for now. If you are interested in taking a look at his other works, I highly recommend Quest and Unto the Hills, for starters. I also own the score to Ancient Voices of Children if you would like to see an example in person of his beautiful craftsmanship. Happy listening!

Beginning at the Beginning ... with Text

I tend to hate starting things, especially after the minutes (hours) wasted of wondering where exactly to start, the frustrated probing at various pathways into the heart of the subject, and the desperate scrabbling in thin air for words, pitches, or whatever small component makes up the medium at hand. But when you sit down to begin a composition with text, this problem nearly takes care of itself. Starting with the text is necessary to address the compositional questions and quandaries that lie further down the path, and if you’re lucky enough to have a text that you love, it might even serve as inspiration in the early stages of churning out notes.

The first question is, however, where do you acquire the text?

I’m actually writing this because I’ve had the opportunity to work with three methods for the acquisition of text. I composed my first texted piece for a choral competition in early 2009, which specified the text to be used for the SATB ensemble. My second vocal piece was an art song that I wrote and translated the text for, and my third and current chamber project is based around public domain poetry excerpts. Each had their own challenges and quirks, but ultimately your treatment of the text—text setting, dramatic arch, text expression or depiction, etc.—is the same.

For the choral competition, the first minor dilemma I faced was whether or not I truly liked the text that was provided. I didn’t love it, but the competition seemed like a good opportunity to work under a close deadline and compose faster. In reflecting back on that experience, I realize that it didn’t occur to me then to really take into consideration how to make my piece—my one version of this preselected text, out of all the others also being written—more unique. I was more concerned with getting the piece done on time, which for a first-time competition entry was not a bad goal. But if I composed under these parameters again, with the text being picked for me (and being picked for everyone else), I would focus more on how to make my score stand out when unique text choice is no longer an option.

The major problem that I now face with the choral piece I wrote is the text’s copyright. It was translated into English by someone who worked with the organization holding the competition, and upon completion of the competition I received an email notifying me that one, I did not win (no big deal though), and two, (far more annoyingly!) if I ever wanted to have my piece performed publically I would need to email the text translator for permission. Needless to say, I was never inclined to do this, and never had that work performed. In truth it would probably not be too difficult to get permission for a performance at a university, yet it’s an aggravating complication and I have considered writing my own text instead to fit the music—but that’s a project for another day. Ultimately, the copyright problem I faced with this piece likely contributed to the desire to set my own text in my following vocal work.

My next vocal piece was largely inspired by the recent gravitation of cinematic music and scoring toward dramatic choirs declaiming in the mysterious, ancient language of Latin. More specifically, it was inspired by the Latin solo in this Final Fantasy trailer. I loved the way Latin sounded, and I really wanted to avoid the inconveniences of using copyrighted text, so I took one and a half years of Latin here at Redlands in order to be able to write and translate lyrics for an art song. I faced less “technical” difficulties overall in using my own text, though I can see that the extra time needed for creating the text as well as the possibility that you may feel inclined to keep editing it could both be problematic. At one point, I had to make a couple of changes in the vocal line due to the correction of minor errors in my translation.

Throughout the process of writing the initial English text, I kept in mind how I wanted the piece to function structurally. Four-line stanzas became the common structural unit, between which I planned to place small piano interludes, and the “climactic” stanza was longer and placed at an appropriate point in the overall dramatic arch. Its contrast of inner text structure and length also allowed for a logical and supportive change of tonal center. Keeping these kinds of general musical ideas in mind during the writing of the text was essential in establishing a synthesis of the music and lyrics from the very beginning, as was identifying key moments throughout the stanzas that the music should most effectively build up to. Though my translation wasn’t perfect, I was pleased with the final result, and the knowledge that this creation is completely mine, words and all, was far more fulfilling.

For my current project, I decided I wanted to work with someone else’s poetic language, and this quickly turned into the poetry of several someones, so that I could trace an abstract narrative of my own conception between the texts (sort of like the way George Crumb’s Ancient Voices of Children* unifies the unrelated Lorca poems, except with multiple authors). Due to my impression of requesting copyright permission, at the time, consisting of many unanswered emails, angry rejection letters, promising of the firstborn child, etc., I chose to use only public domain texts (see above: reluctance to contact choral text translator). Any work in the “public domain” is no longer covered by intellectual property rights and is therefore available for public use. How did I, in this particular case, find texts that I identified with and felt were appropriate for this project, out of all the poetry that currently exists in public domain? With this public domain poetry website and its convenient random-poem generator. I kid you not. It took some time and careful weeding, but with the help of this site and others like it I was able to compile four poetry excerpts that capture the theme of my piece, Verisimilitude—and they’re all free of copyright hassle!

While selecting these excerpts, I made sure to keep musical considerations in mind in addition to the thematic narrative. I knew that I wanted several instrumental interludes as well as an effective dramatic arch to the work as a whole, and recognizing this framework played an important part in the picking of the excerpts and the ultimate arrangement of the text orders. With the texts finally chosen and the order determined, I was able to outline the general structure of the piece: Prelude (contrabass solo), First Texted Movement (introductory, expansive), Interlude, Second Texted Movement (developmental, quickening), Interlude, Third Texted Movement (climactic, dark), Fourth Texted Movement (releasing tension, expanding), Postlude (contrabass solo). Ultimately, these structural and developmental considerations are not all that different from the processes applied to works from mandated or personal text sources.

Just remember that if you use a copyrighted text—especially if you expect a public performance!—you must have permission. Composition competitions and lawyers are very particular about that sort of thing.

_{* I linked to this version only because it is conveniently on Youtube; however, I strongly recommend that you find a recording with the original mezzo, Jan DeGaetani!}