The Gathering Note

Last week, my co-contributor, friend and I, attended two outwardly different musical experiences. On Wednesday we heard Michael Jinsoo Lim perform a collection of modern works for violin and piano. Some of the pieces written in only the last few years. Thursday, we turned toward our attention to the unrivaled genius of all music, hearing J.S. Bach’s monumental B Minor Mass performed by the Seattle Symphony with Gerard Schwarz conducting.

We joked about the prospect of dueling reviews. I assured him that I am not one for reviews but prefer reflections instead. A few days removed from both Bach’s Mass and Lim’s performances of John Corigliano, Philip Glass, and George Antheil works, one overarching perception is at the forefront of my thoughts. In each case, Bach and his much later American colleagues, create a pleasing listening experience derived completely from the work’s structural elements.

Arguably, the sections in Bach’s Mass were never intended to be performed together, yet each of the movements fit perfectly. Together they form the most compelling setting of the Latin mass ever conceived. An achievement made more profound because Bach was a devout Lutheran. The mass setting acts an overarching structure under which, Bach constructs a series of well proportioned segments full of rapturous beauty. Gigantic fugues unfurl, with complicated polyphony that Bach makes look easy. Duets allow for intimate moments. Bach synthesizes counterpoint with harmony, melody with polyphony.

As a listener, I long ago recognized Bach’s genius but find his music endlessly frustrating. On the one hand, his music is the apex of sublime beauty. But on the other hand, this beauty has on more than one occasion seduced me into glossing over the composer’s technical and inventive genius. I don’t have the same problem when listening to Webern.

On Thursday, Schwarz let Bach’s music and the composer’s genius, speak for itself. As was noted elsewhere, he was helped by capable and enthusiastic obbligato solo performances from Scott Goff (flute); Ana Kavafian (violin); and John Cerminaro (French horn) and an invested Seattle Symphony Chorale.

Bach’s style wasn’t fully embraced until early in the last century. Johann Adolph Scheibe a composer and critique, favored Bach as an organist but found his music intellectually and pragmatically difficult.

This great man would be the admiration of whole nations if he had more amenity, if he did not take away the natural element in his pieces by giving them turgid and confused style, and if he did not darken their beauty by excess of art.”

Scheibe probably preferred Handel, Rameau and Vivaldi, all of whom were more popular than Bach. Bach wasn’t adored in his day, but it is clear music wouldn’t be where it is today without him.

Philip Glass’ Music in Fifths and John Corigliano’s Sonata for Violin and Piano embody similar traits as the Mass. Michael Lim performed both works recently as part of the Washington Composers Forum Transport series.

Corigliano’s sonata dates from the sixties. Unlike other sonatas, the violin and piano are elevated to nearly equal stature. The work abounds with knotty textures and polytonalism.

Glass’ early Minimalism isn’t so much a break from the past as a reimaging. Music in Fifths is vexing in its own way. The repetitive patterns and packets of sound are as seductive as a four part chorus. Just as you are getting used to a particular rhythmic pattern, it shifts. My response to Glass’ Fifths and Bach’s Mass were similar. No sooner was I adjusting to one of Bach’s intricate fugues then it changed. The momentary disorientation was overcome with refocused attention.

Glass’ music, like Bach’s is marked with obvious forms and strict musical geometry. These traits make Minimalist music especially difficult to play. The notes on the page don’t always translate easily in an actual performance. For example, Music in Fifths tripped up pianist Christina Valdes on a couple of occasions.

The rest of Scheibe’s quote about Bach’s music reminded me of these difficulties.

His pieces are extremely difficult to play; for he demands that singers and instrumentalists should be able to do with their throats and instruments whatever he can play on the clavier. But this is impossible.

Bach and Glass (as well as other minimalists) and to a lesser degree Corigliano rely on structure and form to imbue their music with beauty. This is perhaps a simplistic analysis, but would Bach be “Bach” otherwise? Can anyone argue with the inherent beauty of the composer’s B Minor Mass? Would Glass’ music be as entrancing? Probably not.