Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Lush Life


OK. I suppose this may sound a little arrogant. But dammit, I stand by it:

Lush Life by Billy Strayhorn is the greatest song ever written!
I admit that there may be a personal reason for this declaration. I've been familiar with Lush Life since I was a kid and admired it very much, but this song took on an even bigger meaning for me when my wife and I broke up last year. It is a song of loss, of pain, of loneliness and in the end, it is a song of the acceptance of all of these issues.

For me, Lush Life has everything. It has great lyrics, with a rhyme scheme that tingles on the tongue, like "relaxes on the axis" or "sad and sullen gray faces with distinque traces" etc. Then there's the unique form of the song: An introduction that tells a story and the monologue type chorus that depicts the singer's state of mind afterwards. And then, there's the music itself which is simply exquisite, both with it's jazz laden qualities and it's harmonic beauty that moves it along.

Lush Life loosely depicts a lost soul at some dive bar who is admiring the beauty of someone else in the same room. The singer imagines that they both have some affinity for each other with regard to their lonely states of mind. Of course, like most alcohol induced fantasies, it's not true. She's just there to have a drink. The lost soul moves on in his own endeavor for a "Lush Life".

Despite the simplicity and sadness of this story, this is a tale that we all can relate to. Plus, the music and lyrics add a distinctive charm and beauty that not only prevents it from being overly depressing, but there is also a profound grace that is depicted here unlike any other song I've ever heard. Amazingly, Billy Strayhorn wrote the words and music to this song in his mid to late teens! One can't even fathom what kind of a life he had in the years before that led him to the composition of this masterpiece.

Although, Lush Life has had some success after it was written, the song has yet to reach the status of a classic like Cole Porter's Night and Day or Johnny Green's Body and Soul, both of which were written at roughly the same time as this Strayhorn epic. There may be a few reasons for this. Besides the obvious struggle of Strayhorn's status as an African American in the early to mid 20th century, Lush Life also has a very tricky introduction in terms of it's freedom of tempo and it's somewhat rhythmic complexity. It seems to have a speaking rhythm which is hard to get down musically.

In 1958, Frank Sinatra tried to record this song with a full orchestra, but their attempt at the intro had mistakes happening left and right. In the end, Lush Life was dropped. One can't help but wonder if this song would have achieved an even bigger status if the greatest singer in the world at the time would have been able to finish it at that recording session. I guess we'll never know.

Nonetheless, there have been a number a great versions of this song performed by Nat King Cole, Nancy Wilson, Linda Ronstadt, Natalie Cole, and this version here featuring Johnny Hartman and the John Coltrane Quartet, which many people consider to be the definitive version.

I'll say it again folks, Lush Life by Billy Strayhorn is the greatest song ever written!

Just listen for yourself. :)

CC

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

The Distinctive Sound


Of the many problems composers have to deal with when it comes to their creative endeavors, one of the more interesting issues is whether or not they have a "distinctive sound" in their compositions. Is this "distinctiveness" achieved through the style or genre that a composer chooses? Or maybe, it could be some kind of innate sound that happens completely by accident through the composer's rhythmic and harmonic habits that he or she has worked with for years, sub-consciously?


The Finnish composer Einojuhani Rautavaara once stated that the composer finds his materials rather than creates them. It's as if the composition existed in another place before the composer brings it out on paper. The distinctive sound has already been pre-determined in some way. Whereas the American composer John Adams has often said that when he is in the middle of composing something, there are occasions when he sees himself about write certain material that he may have used more or less in a previous work of his own. He then makes a conscious decision on whether he should come up with something else, or just go with it. Therefore, the distinctive sound can be determined by the circumstances at the time of composition.


There is a great deal of merit with either of these theories. Both Rautavaara and Adams are geniuses in their own right. But this issue also makes me think of another of one my favorite artists: The british composer, Arnold Bax.


Although Bax was a successful composer in his lifetime, the last few years for him were somewhat of a burden. All his life, Bax wrote roughly in the same kind of style. Light attitude, yet with a passion and lyricism merged with a sense of British charm and Irish tinge. Up until his death in 1953, when serial music was at it's most destructive, Bax was often chastised for his somewhat lighter color, which for many listeners, didn't seem very relevant during the mid 20th century, a time when various wars had caused the most damage at that point.


For me, one of the great elements in the music of Bax is his use of subtly. He seems to whisper his emotions through music rather than blow it up in ones face. Most other composers at the time prefered to vent their fustrations musically in a loud and blunt manner with a dissonance that accentuated their rage. But Bax was fully aware of the emotions of hardship in survival. So he makes a vague yet important statement in his works so that the listener can feel his emotional state in a gradual way rather than with the “in your face” attitude.


One should note that Bax himself lived through the horrors of war like everyone else. In particular, the uprising in Ireland and the two World Wars where he lost many close friends. If you were to listen to certain pieces he wrote like The Garden of Fand, Tintagel and most of the 7 Symphonies, one cannot deny that Arnold Bax has a desperate need to metaphorically smile amidst numerous tragedies he lived through during this time. He certainly has a distinctive voice in the works he created, whether they be guided by tradition or the obscure world he lived through, or maybe a combination of the two. In short, you know him when you hear him.


The issue of the distinctive sound will continue to be debated among composers time and time and again. But it is clear to me that the choice of style is merely one of many tools within the mix of an even bigger picture.


CC

Saturday, March 14, 2009

A revelation! (maybe)


I recently had an interesting conversation with my friend Sam Baker, an enthusiastic drummer who lives in Brooklyn. Our musical backgrounds are very different: Mine, a classical tapestry with a subtle design and a paced structure. His, an "in your face" attitude filtered with percussive strokes made of thunderous rage.


Despite these seemingly polar opposites of expression, we nonetheless saw in our conversation that we both had the same common goal in our risky endeavors in this obscure world of music we are now swimming in and hopefully, we won't drown.


So there we were, Sam and I, at the Bushwick Country Club (Best bar in Brooklyn!) with a couple of pint sized $3 PBRs in front of us, debating the endless debate about what it is we musicians are trying to express in our music and how we strive to put it across. Naturally, the question came up as to what relationship we classical-based composers have with the listening audience. For myself and most of my colleagues, this issue is very difficult to deal with. Because in the classical world, it is widely believed that the living composer either doesn't give a damn about the audience or he panders to it like a prostitute to a pimp. A true rock and a hard place for me.


I told Sam that I knew in my heart I wasn't fully satisfied with either of these scenarios, but I could not fully put into words what my real intentions are. For me, it seemed inexplicable. That is, until Sam said to me: "It's obvious! You want to engage the listener. All musicians want to do that!". And when Sam said that to me, I started to feel this enormous weight being lifted from my back.


As he and I discussed this issue further, the term "Engaging music" seemed to have a nice ring to it. As if it could be some kind of future movement in the arts. Something that could appeal to anyone, classical listener or not (Although I'll hold off on that for now, until I figure this out some more). Nonetheless, the term "engaging" is such a great word. It has little or no baggage of it's own. It can be applied to any style of expression and is not directly associated with any one style alone. And most importantly, it accurately describes what every great artist from any background wants to do. As far as Sam and myself are concerned, we want to do engaging music!


For me, the term "engaging" implies that the composer wants to lure the listener into his or her unique sound world. What that world resembles is not as important, as the fact that it must have some kind of addictive allure which entices and then traps the listener till he's powerless to ignore it. Kind of like a drug addiction, but without the bad consequences. Of course the listener can press the "stop" button or leave the auditorium in mid performance, but that would feel so unnatural to do. The listener must see it through in order to get this incredible high that cant be achieved anywhere else. All of this can easily be done once the listener is "engaged" in the first place.



OK, I know there's more work to be done with this idea. I guess this isn't the musical equivilent of Einstein's theories. I'm sure there are other details I have overlooked. But I must say that this "engaging" concept feels very good insofar as I've been able to test it. You have to start somewhere.


Thank you Sam!


CC

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Accessible music?


Since the beginning of my compositional career, I've always had an unusual problem with the word "accessible". For me, this word seems to be nothing more than an opinion which is "masked" as fact, and can be manipulated by certain agenda driven people to thrust their own cause and attempt to damage other expressions of thought at the same time. This kind of tactic, I feel, is an absolute detriment to any free thinking society.


I recently read a review of a recording containing the Violin Concerto by Arnold Schöenberg. This reviewer states in his critique that for anyone to like this piece, depends on "how hard you, the listener, feels like working, and how much the performance rewards your time and effort." The reviewer goes on to say that if you are new to this piece, then you should "start with the finale. It contains several memorable tunes and motives that recur with relative frequency, in a clear march rhythm."


After reading this, I was predictably annoyed. It is a tale I've heard before, many times. The theory that an "accessible" piece is primarily simple with a tuneful nature, and a piece that's not so "accessible" is much more complex and requires work from the listener in order to be enjoyed. Well, I can respect this reviewer in his attempt to influence the listener into buying the recording, but I find his manner of critique to be a form of unnecessary "toilet training" for people that already have a decent head on their shoulders.


It is clear to me that all the great composers regardless of what musical "language" they're using, have an innate ability to take his or her materials they come up with in their dreams, and then carefully develop these materials into wonderful pieces of music which any listener, at the very least, can feel in their soul. This issue alone makes the concept of "simple" and "complex" irrelevant. A great composer's work transcends those petty words.


There is truly an inner spirit within a great opus of any style which is a blend of the composer's otherworldly talent, along with the circumstances he or she is living through at the time, and the disciplined effort to make it all work. No matter how different the composers like Bach, Beethoven, Ives, Ellington, Adams and Prince are from each other, they all have this same aforementioned qualities that make them who they are, tune or no tune. These greats, like many others, have done all the work so that you, the listeners, don't have to.


This is the way it's supposed to be. Listening is an illuminating and soul touching experience, not work. One should simply let the music flow through the body and it would do it's magic. Of course, there are numerous benefits and pleasures in hearing a piece more than once, but one would be doing that anyway because he or she got something out of it the first time around, not because they hope they'll "get it" after hearing it a few more times, due to their personal insecurities of not being "cultured" enough.


The fact is, accessible pieces of music are numerous in their sounds, styles and expressions, large and small. And they all sound fantastic!


It's as simple as that.



CC