Curtis Student Recital: Early 20th-century Eastern European composers

I treated myself to a recital at Field Concert Hall last night to celebrate my selection for a residence at Millay Colony.

Prokofiev's Sonata in D for violin and piano was showy as expected, the string part far outshining the accompaniment. When the piano sounds like accompaniment, I doubt my hearing. The relative positions of the players -- violinist Ji-Won Song standing directly downstage from pianist Jiuming Shen rather than nestled in the shoulder of his instrument -- and their body language signaled hierarchy. I have seen a rare pianist command an equal or even authoritative role in chamber performance, but this was not the music for it.

Jessica T. Chang played Bartok's viola concerto, Francesco Lecce-Chong accompanying on piano. His Asian collar shirt caught my eye as they came onstage. As an aspiring viola lover, I admit I am unfamiliar with the piece. I missed Bartok's masterful orchestration in Lecce-Chong's execution and will have to study the piece carefully. Chang's playing was surprisingly straight in executing work from a composer known for rhythmic and metric aggression, but her sound was remarkably resonant. I found out from her afterward her instrument features an asymmetrical tailpiece intended to maximize the length of lower strings and, through pressure, their conduction into the body. Hot. Unfortunately for extended technique the piece is metal alloy and too slippery to bow (but maybe tough enough to be beaten).

The second half was all spectacle, and every soul outside the concert hall ceased to exist.

Identical twins Michelle and Christina Naughton with impressive coordination Ravel's exuberantly playful piano duet, La Valse. After a point I get weirded out by the medical exoticism people direct toward twins, but that might be me. The piece opens with indistinct bass clusters perversely harped on vaguely in waltz rhythm by one player, then passed to the other. I don't think I would try to dance to this one.

After some piano juggling Yue Chu and Michelle Cann performed Stravinsky's Le Sacre du printemps 4-hands, the version Stravinsky prepared for a friend and himself to rehearse the orchestral piece. I'd heard it in recording before but never witnessed the demanding changes of hands between players, part crossing and overlapping, and polymetric coordination in addition to the usual requirements of timing and balance. Some moments I found it hard to remember what the orchestration was, other times I heard the accustomed rich timbres, but most of the time I was able to enjoy fully the piano idiom. In it I was able to hear thematic material and elements of compositional mastery more clearly. It was a daring choice, and though a sloppy pedal release or grace scale was exposed on rare occasions, the performance was finely and musically prepared. I welcome such boldness from young musicians. Both Chu and Cann warmly greeted admirers in the lobby and expressed eagerness for contemporary repertoire.

Conclusion: these musicians are so young!

Home Theater Festival Philadelphia Mar. 13

Updated time and date! Sunday March 13 from noon-4

I bring the artist-run performance series Home Theater Festival to Philadelphia next month, when events take over 31 salons and living rooms worldwide. A project to cultivate self-sufficiency among emerging artists, Home Theater Festival was created by Philip Huang in Berkeley.

Philadelphia's show features:

(check back for updates)
Joy Mariama Smith, performance installation

indee, speaking/moving truth to power in the name sake
The Logical Phalluses, jazz and progressive rock
Morgan Andrews, Philadelphia Theater of the Oppressed
Yours Truly, something never witnessed before

Substance-free, 18+

$4.99-7.99 cover

Donations accepted for vegan fudge

All takings go to performers

Comment with your Facebook URL or email me to RSVP and for West Philadelphia address

The tickle is in me, not the feather

Trade Winds From China concert review

I just can't miss an NNM concert. This week it was like having to see the Phillies play (I think, I don't actually follow sports) in the sense of Pierre Boulez's aleatoric concert as a game without rules -- everyone vaguely familiar with the contemporary music scene has heard of Bright Sheng, but I couldn't even remember my opinion of his work when I walked into the pre-concert lecture. I knew I was taking a gamble, but a combination of intense personal events left me with those metaphorical cotton-stuffed ears I've resented in audiences prior. Worrisome at first, it has led me to contemplate Galileo's metaphysical observation that the tickle is in us and not in the feather that draws it out of us. I didn't have my usual tickle for new music worship Sunday night, and that anomaly is as much a blessing as a curse.

My feeling of denial solidified in the very first piece, Sheng's Three Fantasies for Violin and Piano; it just wasn't in me to suspend disbelief. That said, I was able to enjoy the trees: astonishingly clean, sharp pizzicato (I thought at first violinist Hirono Oka was using the mute for a plectrum), ornaments and sudden flashes of melody shaken from long sustains, a palette of harsh, stompy clusters in the piano, a fun vocabulary of double stops. I could hear Chinese and Western European tradition pitch and maybe ornamentation throughout the three movements, but what grabbed me were Oka's body language and facial expressions: forward, stony, even stiff, but arresting in the way she shifted weight bringing feet together and apart. Pianist Susan Nowicki was in tears at the bow and neither performer returned for second bows though the audience applauded heartily for the better part of a minute.

Shih-Hui Chen spoke with appreciable energy in a muted voice at the pre-concert lecture. She shared a movement from Mei-Hua for string quartet with high school players from the Philadelphia Sinfonia under Gary White's direction, a sensitive piece marked with broken narrative. Already before the concert I was hearing as through sweet mud or underwater. This sample was easier to listen to that her featured work, Our Names for narrator, percussion, flute, clarinet, violin, cello, and piano. Context: I am attuned to words as a bird is to light. Our Names was a notated melodram, the players and narrator speaking lines from a poem lamenting the appropriation of Taiwanese names in precisely predetermined rhythm. In this hierarchy of sound interpretation it was difficult for me to hear the music, which I yearned to hear without the words. Moments that made an impression were "A flood of power" accompanied fittingly by too much energy in a flute entry and "The shadow of inferiority at the edge of society/ Has overflowed in our hearts" with layer on layer simultaneous, independent voices from all instruments.

While I complain regularly about the heartache of reviewing concerts involving performers I know personally, I had the perk of being introduced to composer Chou Wen-chung with whom I exchanged a few simple but satisfying remarks in Mandarin. Attentive and discerning at 88, Professor Chou had the air of a venerable elder when giving anecdotes in response to questions during the lecture. After the concert, he serenely challenged me to describe my response to his Ode to Eternal Pine. Context again: though he's been in America since before my parents were born, I recognized an Asian elder by softening my posture to make myself lower than he, a practice that feels even more awkward at a concert reception. It was a chamber piece interpreted from his 2008 work for traditional instruments. From spacious instrumental whispers, inexplicable explosions, a remorseful tone in a cello melody, cascading textures with sudden onset like laughter, a sinuous violin line, atonal abbreviated straying, ear-splitting piccolo and Eb clarinet screeches, and mallet/string stroke piano passages that kept Nowicki in constant, high-tension motion, all in a short, continuous five movements, I blurted some prattle about expansive openness and sounds of nature. He smiled and replied in Mandarin, "I think your hearing is accurate." I allowed myself some relief, but don't know how much he's letting on.

He went on to characterize that openness as a feature of Eastern writing and narrow focus as a Western norm. Never having studied any Eastern music theory in depth, I can approximate this projection on my Western training to develop ever elemental material. The programming, indeed of the Trade Winds series, obsesses over ways composers incorporate the two practices with some semblance of balance. I heard Ode to Pines as entirely original Western contemporary music. I think it was Crumb who, when questioned about whether his work was gamelan-influenced, claimed it's all in the Western ear now.

Since Feb. 11th I've been drawn for moments into preoccupation with the possibility of a new movement for democracy in China fueled by the rapid, apparent success of demonstrators in Tunisia and Egypt, bolstered by an overcautious but supportive international show of sentiment. Throughout the lecture by composers Chen and Chou, I itched to ask them to frame their work in a political context. "Will Taiwan unite with the mainland before China transitions to democracy? What role do leading emigrants have in reforming Asian nations' images in the West? Do non-Mandarin native speakers hear your music differently? Which of your pieces would you have performed in the Koreas' DMZ? in Tiananmen Square?" I was in too much an introverted mood to pose these questions that night, but they are as much on my mind today.

Meredith Monk

Until Sunday I'd never knowingly heard Meredith Monk. A dancer took me to her concert at Bryn Mawr, and let's say I had an experience.

My experiential practice has come a long way since I walked out of my first gamelan concert, Germanic sensibilities offended by the invitation to the audience to walk around the shadow puppet screen onstage while a leaf shape twitched on the screen. After some reflection and hearing from another composer, I understand there is strong ritual emphasis in Monk's work as well. I'm also retrospectively (no pun intended) interested in what her performance calls for from the audience, although the proscenium staging did set one up to sit and watch dumbly.

I had no idea her music would be minimalist in a most stereotyped style, combined with melodramatic, simple movement.* The presentation and movement, too, were more awkward and simpler I expected. The acoustic effect of the synthesized keyboard in persistent patterns can wear down one's consciousness -- another dancer acquaintance admitted she'd slept through part of the concert, too exhausted by the sound.

When I sensed the first, long piece was coming to a close, I became genuinely afraid I would not maintain control of my vocal muscles and first covered my mouth forcefully, then jammed the whole hand in hard enough to leave teethmarks. Only during intermission did I read that the first piece was adapted for the stage from an original site-specific piece. Still, the performances repeatedly provoked my disbelief that such a popular artist could give so little material, so awkwardly timed, so slowly. The style, including that of the Girlchild costume, evoked tribal and Japanese court traditions in a way that made me suspicious.

My metaphor for my experience was to witness the concoction of a powerful medicine, and then be made to take it even though it was certainly not for my illness.

So what do you think of Meredith Monk?

*It begged the question why Glass is better known, if not accepted, among Western classical tradition musicians than Monk. She's been no less academically recognized. The multidisciplinary focus? her popularity? that she's a she?

Non-profit in the arts

Last night I played a set among five by Leeway Foundation grantees. We were all young artists of color performing in classical, contemporary, hip-hop, punk, and jazz styles. I appreciated how warm toward and supportive of one another the performers were.

Among announcements and general rallying cries were cheers for non-profits. I feel odd expressing pride in non-profit as a brand, kind of like pride in studying formal music theory or pride in disinfectant. As a musician and queer, I have practices of which I am proud that require one or another functional necessities. I'm not ashamed of such necessities, but it would be an uncomfortable stretch to extend my pride to them.

Are there context-specific reasons for pride in non-profit status distinct from those in the benefit and virtue such agencies generate?

Again I emphasize I have no shame about the non-profit brand. Jeri Johnson of Black Pearl Chamber Orchestra struggled heroically to make her group survive as a NP agency. There's even more room for businesses to become better for-benefit agents. The pay discrepancy between NP, government, and for-profit jobs is at once alarming for the talent drain, but encouraging as well. That passion and willingness to sacrifice comfort and lifestyle for service is prideworthy.

letters

My favorite aspect of mass emails about my music journey is responses from old friends. After the most recent blast, a friend from high school (he was an adult then) replied in verse. I've excerpted my response.

What a great question! what is "modern" if styles and ideas are no newer than those of the past generation?

I picked up Huang's translation of the I Ching yesterday. Can you believe I don't know anything about it except what I read in His Dark Materials? I was moved by Huang's insistence that divination should not be used when reason, common sense, or moral principles give an answer. It seems obvious, but we commonly find it so hard to act on a choice that we'd rather give up the power to choose! If, however, we're willing to let something like the I Ching choose for us, that power to act is no less ours -- it always has been.

It's true that much of what today's avant garde does relates back to John Cage's avant garde's work of over 30 years ago, but I think he would agree that all these ideas and potentials have existed continuously. It's not to devalue innovation or change; rather, I have felt empowered in connecting to this continuity. How could an individual possibly be ready to compete with the innovation of historical predecessors, yet action necessarily begins in one? For now, I like to believe that by allowing myself to experience and to work instinctively, my actions originate also from the same potential that has ever coaxed beauty and change out of the cosmos.

On parenting: Chinese mothers

A friend recently directed me to this New York Times Saturday Essay by a Yale professor of law. In it, Amy Chua displays a dazzling armory in her brand of "Chinese" parenting to emphasize its superiority to "Western" parenting. In her list of a "Chinese mother's" mandatory requirements is playing the violin and piano. It's a fascinating topic not least because of the prevalence of Chinese youth in the classical music scene, and certain to draw criticism from Asian readers. Besides, one of my recent blog visitors found it by googling "Chinese parents grades."

She begins by creating a false dichotomy of Chinese versus Western mothers, including in the latter group ethnic Chinese immigrants who adopt "Western" parenting practices. The conclusion that my mother might not be Chinese enough is so problematic that it warrants dismantling beyond the scope of this post. I won't even get into the detail of why a solid hour (or three!) of instrument practice is counterproductive for adults and children. I want to explore success and happiness in the cultural context of 1.5- and 2nd-generation immigrant families.

Chua fails to consider community -- are the kids who surround her daughters Chinese, white, or mixed? Do they have peer support and understanding for that level of discipline? Her anecdote about calling a daughter "garbage" at a dinner party suggests not. How, then, can these children process this brand of verbal abuse in an age-appropriate way? Nor does the anecdote about learning the difficult piano piece prove Lulu's acceptance of Chua's coercive methods; abuse commonly strengthens codependency in relationships. I was deeply ostracized from grade school through middle school, in addition to being the only Asian, for rarely paying social visits or attending club activities. Social isolation can only hinder success in adulthood.

Chua's Chinese mother is incapable of hearing what her child is trying to say. I was a stubborn kid and learned the way to get my way was by manipulating, lying, and equivocating according to my mother's professed values. I was "the kid who tried that one." After encountering only disgust and fear in response to topics relating to the body, I learned to silence my body's changes and needs. After being explicitly forbidden to date, I kept my activities a secret. Clinging to rules and ideals, I stayed with an abusive boyfriend with the intention to marry this one-and-only. To this day, my family knows nothing about my love life or partners. Chua won't be so self-congratulatory about her unidirectional parenting if one or more of her daughters comes out as queer or trans. Despite recognizing my fierce confidence and tireless work ethic, my mother regrets that I'm not headed toward a full-time job with a normal marriage and lots of letters after my name.

The most grievous time in my mother's life may have been when I cut off all communication for three years after college. It was my trial by fire for all the "future" for which my parents couldn't prepare me with their input-only practice. I desperately sought community but feared and felt alienated from my own heritage. It wasn't until I built a strong individual identity that I could reach for understanding of my parents and culture of origin.

In a rapidly transforming society, and especially for immigrant families, it's not enough simply to replicate your parents' practice. I don't suggest throwing away everything you remember and copying your white neighbors' practices wholesale. Parenting is a highly individualized process.

I've now forgiven the strained, one-dimensional parenting that was Mom and Dad's way to show love so I could again be a part of my family of origin. The rewards have exceeded my expectations. We even had our first conversation in which they expressed genuine interest and analysis in a significant topic in my life!

[EDIT 1/21] In a conversation off-blog, a teacher noticed Chua "doesn't quite read emotions and tones well..." My response:

Your observation is germane to my personal experience -- my parents are especially bad at reading people, a state that I realized only after years of being better socialized as an adult. For example, it is a piece of cake to lie to them because they can't recognize signs of guilt. I'm still relatively poor at social cues, but the realization was key to adopting methods of compensation. Perhaps too many artists indulge ourselves in this. A pianist correspondent finds ill sentiment in art music circles toward financially successful composers, perhaps for their ability to navigate contracts more easily.