Wednesday 30 September 2009

Kaleidoscope for String Septet



Kaleidoscope (4 violins, viola, cello, and double bass) sets out to be the aural equivalent of a kaleidoscope's ever-mutating patterns and colours. This project has been gestating for ages, yet remains as a draft for a bigger piece.

Connect your device to a decent sound system or enclosed headphones, and click the orange PLAY button...


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Alternatively, you could listen to the music at its URL:
http://soundcloud.com/peter-gore-symes/kaleidoscope


If you wish, you can read the score (in pdf format) here. It will open in a new window so you can follow the score while you listen.
Both the (mp3) recording and the score are free and downloadable.
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I've deliberately selected a mono-chromatic photo to represent my piece because the music employs only string timbre... it awaits a future project to significantly vary the instrumental colour palette as well. This 'limitation', however, enabled me to focus on harmonic colour. Another huge advantage of 100% string instrumentation is the ability of strings to blend so seamlessly - very useful to my purposes here.
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The project was inspired principally by the French composer Perotin (of the late 12th century Notre Dame School)... but actually sounds very little like him (oh, how I do delight in being contrary and annoyingly cryptic :-) I've always been impressed by the vision and magnificence of Perotin's organa such as Viderunt Omnes (this link to Youtube opens in a new window: after listening, simply close it, and you'll be back here). Its cornucopia of cascading sound was Perotin's musical response to the glittering kaleidoscopic refractions of light flooding in through the enormous stained glass windows of the then newly-completed gothic Cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris. One can't help also recalling Messiaen for the same reason, of course... I'm sure they would have enjoyed a chat.
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Magister Perotin was in awe of the sheer height of the cathedral's lofty ceiling, which soared vertiginously above all the comparitively squat architecture of the conventional Romanesque architecture of the day. It was this which prompted him expand the music of his predecessor Leonin from two parts to four, a vertical expansion analagous to the very cathedral in which the music was to be performed. Now, with four parts, Perotin could now weave a denser musical web of sound, more a massed sonic "fabric" rather than the limpid clarity of Leonin's two polyphonic strands. Not only creative and visionary, but mighty courageous, I'd say. Respect, dude... high fives, etc. The Beethoven of the 12th century, no less.
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Perotin, like most church musicians of the time, composed by successively adding melodic layers above the Cantus Firmus, or lowest voice. The Cantus Firmus (CF) was usually a melodic fragment of Gregorian Chant, but stretched out to be so glacially slow that its melodic character was effectively denied, serving instead simply as a musical foundation (these days it's the 'bass') on which to build upwards. This not only offered the composer ready-made tonal structure on which to add his own layers, but conveniently ensured that the church could not criticize the music for ignoring God or the liturgy. However by contrast, in my piece Kaleidoscope, the CF is both freely composed and decidedly secular - vaguely inspired by the theme from the Pink Panther. Those slow-moving parallel fifths appealed to my Debussy-inspired bad-boy streak, my love of questioning not only the What but also the Why of the so-called "Rules" of music. Anyone in the Arts who adheres to Rules needs to be interrogated under hot lights.
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For instance, one of the traditional cornerstones among the Rules of conventional part-writing is the preference for "contrary motion"... eg, when one part falls, the other[s] rise, etc. So [perversely], I decided to move all my parts in similar or parallel motion. The four lowest parts [comprising the CF] move solidly in parallel octaves and fifths (8,5,16,32) - hence the faint suggestion of the Pink Panther. As with mediaeval organum, this is, in reality, a 'thickened' single line, the cello, viola, and fourth violin merely reinforcing the contrabass by amplifying its primary overtones. To get high enough, in fact, the fourth violin plays in harmonics throughout, soaring quietly over the other violins, creating not so much a melodic contribution of its own but a faint and mysterious overtone haze. Only at the Chorale-style coda are the four instruments in this lower group given any real melodic independence from each other - this is purposefully done at that point in order to prompt the listener's expectations of a more conventional polyphonic 'tonal' environment.
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Likewise, the three violins jointly constitute [for the most part] another single thickened line, tightly bound together, moving mostly similar motion like strands of a rope. I nursed the very tactile image of shoppers jostling in the crowded alleys between market stalls - personal space in Thailand is practically a non-issue. I also imagined the violin "trio" as a metaphor for a churning river of sound, like a painter twisting his brush as he moves it over the canvas. These three strands are melodically independent of each other, but I made them obey several self-imposed restrictions (mm, yeah, OK..."rules"!):
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1. The three strands are confined mostly within a narrow tessitura of [about] a fourth. When an upper or lower voice rises or falls, the others are obliged to follow [albeit in a quite elastic manner] in order to respect that narrow tessitura. That way, the ear is more likely to hear them as a single entity, a broad 'ribbon' of sound.
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2. Harmony is mostly quartal/secondal. Some conventional chordal moments do occur, but only as momentary flashes of colour as if from facets of a revolving diamond. Relatively rare events like this are non-functional for the most part, and (statistically speaking) democratically represented within the extensive universe of intervallic possibilities inherent within the span of a fourth.
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3. As with all harmony, quartal or otherwise, the succession of chords may be chosen to manipulate levels of relative consonance and dissonance. Needless to say, it is impossible to build a conventional triad within the span of a fourth. A chord built from two major seconds will sound relatively consonant by comparison to one built from a major second plus a minor second. Two minor seconds will seem even more dissonant. More so three... which is possible here because the violins are heard as an 'overlay' on top of the Cantus Firmus, generating almost limitless gradations of harmony and dissonance for the composer to manipulate. The three voices are not related to each other in any conventional sense according to the Rules of harmony or counterpoint, except at times of my strategic choice where I choose to hint salaciously at tonal direction. 
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4. Staying roughly within the tessitura of a fourth does not preclude the three violins from approaching each other even more closely at chosen moments in order to generate increased harmonic tension [eg, see bars 17/18 and bar 38]. This process is the logical continuation of a thousand years worth of music history: the exploration of the harmonic potential of the upper end of the Overtone Series. It's already been done in Electronic Music because technology has made it easily possible. But it pays to keep things in perspective - Monteverdi in the seventeenth century was howled down by critics for using unacceptable dissonance... and he had done no more than write a 7th chord whose 7th wasn't suitably 'prepared in advance'. Um.
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5. Importantly, the three violins should mostly remain rhythmically independent of each other. This deliberate offsetting of rhythms vastly increases the number of momentary passing chords and harmonic colours available on the composer's palette, sometimes two or three changes per quarter-note beat. It is the very genesis of the title "Kaleidoscope". This also serves to suppress any unequivocal sense of beat, which is left more to the slower-moving lower group, creating the effect of superimposing a fast movement over a slow one. The effect of such rhythmic independence in the trio is analagous to that of the painter smudging one colour into the next in gradual transition of hue.
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In summary, while the score requires seven instruments, these actually function in two groups, ie., I conceived this essentially as two-part music [low in opposition to high]. Most of the time there is space between the two groups, as well as contrasting rhythms, so the ear may more easily distinguish them from each other. The bass group moves in a generally lower realm than the treble group, which prefers to soar higher in my conceptual Cathedral of sound-colour. On occasion, however, they do briefly collide and fuse. Between the two groups there is no consistent use of contrary motion: according to the dramatic needs of the moment, you will hear a mixture of similar and contrary motion.
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All this talk of breaking rules seems a bit hollow when you suddenly realize that the entire piece is securely in the key of C. Not C-major, thank Buddha, but "C-centric": I weave a texture of harmonies around the note of C, not the chord of C. In a quasi-conventional way, there are vague tonal implications as the music approaches the dream sequence beginning at bar 26. The music gravitates back to the note of C at structurally significant points (eg., an implied cadence on C at bar 33, in spite of the G# bass(!); bar 38; a rise to high C at bar 38; implied cadences at bars 43-4. The final chord is also built on the note C but is intentionally 'unstable' in conventional terms, but is heard as stable by contrast to the body of the piece. But (horrors!) you'll hear pure C-major scales in bars 46-9; and the final chorale from bar 50. Even at the opening, the violins highlight the high notes e'' and g'' in bars 12 and 17... all very conventional stuff if subjected to the scrutiny of Shenkerian analysis).
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Post-script: Because my piece was written specifically for computer-generated performance, I allowed myself to take the liberty of writing the double-bass part right down to low C below the bass clef. This enabled the double-bass to, as it were, creep slowly out of the Creation Swamp at the start, then crawl back quietly into it at the end. Why? Cuz I enjoy the noise it makes on the computer - I don't care too much that real double-basses can't play down that far... (yet).
 Pierre Gorgon-Symes:
Sometimes I sits and thinks. Sometimes I just sits.

A composer is probably working hardest when staring blankly out a window.

Tuesday 15 September 2009

Fantasia on a Theme from "Buppha Rahtree"

 
What's a sweet little Thai schoolgirl like this doing brandishing a dripping cuthroat razor? I recently watched a sub-titled Thai language horror/romance/comedy ghost movie titled Buppha Rahtree 3.2 ("Buppha's Revenge") and sensed under-exploited musical potential in its theme - hence my latest composition, below.
(If you want to hear the original theme first, you could view the film's brief trailer here on Youtube. It will open in a new window. the tune is heard right at the start).

Be. Very. Afraid... but to hear my adaption of the theme music, click on the orange PLAY button...



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Alternatively, you could listen to the music at its URL:
http://soundcloud.com/peter-gore-symes/fantasia-on-a-theme-from
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If you wish, you can read the SCORE (in pdf format) hereInstrumentation: flute, violin, cello, double-bass, synth and piano.
This link will open in a new window so you can follow the score  while listening to the music. Both the score and the mp3 recording are free and downloadable.
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This is more an independent composition than a straight arrangement of the film's theme. The two falling semitones (Eb-D-C#) heard in the ominous opening are heard again when the main theme begins in the flute, but they appear buried in the accompaniment. The climax of the piece (at Rehearsal letter E) occurs at the 'golden mean' - which I always measure in time, rather than bar numbers - because bars are not always the same length.
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For the record, here's the poster, featuring the usual de rigeur Thai heart-throbs:
Thai people know for sure that ghosts exist. Ghosts and spirits are integral to Thai stories and legends, but also feature heavily in the reality of normal Thai daily life. In Thailand, "Spirits of the land" have been living here forever, and we humans are ephemeral visitors in their eternal realm. We must accord them respect as elders and owners and ensure they have an attractive place to live - which accounts for the spirit house attached to virtually every house, shop or condominium. Keep 'em happy and feed 'em, and they won't disturb us.
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However, some ghosts can prove more problematic. Ghosts of people who have recently died may not yet "understand" that they are in fact dead, and continue to roam around seeking their family and friends - until such time as a local monk performs a ceremony to inform the ghost that it's time to 'cross over'. Or, worse, a few malevolent ghosts seek revenge for violent deaths - which was the case with our cute little razor-slashing schoolgirl in the film Buppha Rahtree.
Read more about Thai ghosts here.

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Er, no, it's not a ghost... it's my alter ego in the morning before coffee.
Hey, nothing makes any sense before coffee.




SO glad you could visit my blog.
It's been lovely - but I have to scream now.