By Peter Burwasser
Fanfare Magazine

Several years ago, I attended a live performance of Steve Reich’s Different Trains played by the dedicatees, the Kronos String Quartet. I had the same reaction as I did the first time I heard the Kronos play it; the piece moved me deeply, haunted me, actually, and in doing so succeeded as a unique and accessible work of music. I continue to consider it a masterpiece. After the performance, I ran into the producer of the concert, whom I know, and expressed my admiration for the music. His response floored me. “I hated it. It doesn’t work at all as a piece of music.”

After listening to this provocative new recording by eighth blackbird, I wondered what this man, who is as ardent a proponent of new music as anyone I know, thinks of Frederic Rzewski’s Coming Together. The Reich piece uses repetitive motifs for string quartet and tape as a basis (nothing unfamiliar for Reich mavens), and then “narrates” the music with recorded voices of train conductors and nannies, and train whistles from two continents. The dramatic import is itself hardly controversial, an evocation of the Holocaust, as 1940s train trips of an American child of bicoastal divorced parents are contrasted to the unspeakably horrific train trips forced upon doomed Jewish children, happening at the same time in Europe.

Rzewski, writing almost 20 years before Reich in 1971, also uses a minimalist instrumental backdrop, although he does not specify the ensemble, and then cloaks the music in extra-musical material to achieve a quasi-operatic dramatic effect. The text is derived from a letter written by a prisoner at Attica, in upstate New York, the scene of an infamous uprising that was brutally suppressed by the National Guard. The writer, Sam Melville, was killed in the retaking of the prison, perhaps even after order was restored, as an act of sheer vengeance on the part of the guards. Like Reich, Rzewski employs a mathematical precision in his combination of instrumental and non-pitched sounds, even though he allows for improvisation. In both cases, it could be argued that the spoken human voice is intrinsically musical, perhaps even pitched (Reich is explicit about this; I’m not sure of the view of Rzewski), even if traditional harmonization is not taking place. Rzewski has the contents of the letter repeated as one might reread an apparently prosaic text, in search for deeper meaning. It is declaimed, usually by a musican not trained as a singer (the composer himself has taken the part), as the voice grows louder and more impassioned, building to a shattering ending with the final shouting of the now ironic phrase “feeling for the inevitable direction of my life.”

A critical non-musical difference between the pieces has to do with the overtly, passionately political stance expressed in Coming Together. Like many at the time, Rzewski was outraged by the steely, uncompromised viciousness that characterized the state reaction to the uprising. But it should also be said that many, perhaps a majority, approved of what was viewed as a necessarily bold reaction to a dire situation. Also, Rzewski’s subject, Sam Melville, was imprisoned for the bombing of public places, and regardless of the supposed verity of his political positions, it is difficult to defend against a revulsion to his means of expression. How can we distance ourselves from these non-musical issues and judge Rzewski on the merits of his art? This is not a difficult issue for this writer, for I am not an ideologue. I may have some fundamental differences with the core suppositions in this piece, but I still can admire the passion, and quest for truth and justice at the heart of Rzewski’s work. More importantly, he manages to focus all of this energy into a remarkably powerful piece of music. Yes, music. I remain amazed that my friend, the critic of Different Trains, does not see it this way. Yes we are exploring the very definition of music. Try this one: an intellectually organized collection of sound, for the purpose of expressing human emotion. By such a definition, Rzewski scores a home run with this music, which will either inspire you or enrage you, but cannot possibly leave you indifferent.

Matt Albert, the violinist of eighth blackbird, made this arrangement—and he supplies the narration. This superb ensemble also presents a glistening rendition of the 1969 Les Moutons de Panurge, a semi-improvisational work that radiates a serene beauty. The program opens with a new composition written for eighth blackbird, Pocket Symphony, in six short movements. Here is another unique success, a paean to concise expression. I could go on, but my time is up (according to my clock). Frederick Rzewski may not have the media cachet of Glass, Reich, Adams, et al., but he is in their class and then some. This exciting new release is a window into his remarkable world.

Copyright © 2005 Fanfare Magazine