Milton Babbit

* Quatrains (1)
* Manifold Music (2)
* My Ends are My Beginnings (3)
* Soli e Duettini (4)
* Swan Song No. 1 (5)

Tony Arnold, soprano (1); Charles Neidich, Ayako Oshima, clarinets (1);
Gregory D'Agostino, organ (2); Alan Blustine, clarinet and bass clarinet
(3); William Anderson, Oren Fader, guitars (4); Cygnus Ensemble/Jeffrey
Milarsky (5)
Bridge 9135 {DDD}  Total time: 50:42

Summary for the Busy Executive: Try it.  You might like it.

Most people know Milton Babbitt (and hate his music besides) because of
an article they haven't read, titled "Who Cares If You Listen?" Never
mind the fact that Babbitt didn't give it that title (the editor of the
pop magazine High Fidelity in which the article appeared thought Babbitt's
original title -- something like "The Composer as Specialist" -- lacked
punch) and that most people who froth at the mention of Babbitt's name
have most likely heard nothing he's composed.

The article itself is surprisingly mild (you can read an on-line copy
at http://www.palestrant.com/babbitt.html).  Mainly, it states the
obvious, even things that champions of Lovely Tonal Music believe: that
there is a widening gap between a great deal of music written after 1910
and the general listening public.  I do find a couple of points problematic:
that the isolation is inevitable and "potentially advantageous to the
composer." I don't doubt that it benefits *some* composers, at least.
There are some artists who will never gain wide acceptance, whose music
will never be loved in the same way as Puccini's or Haydn's, or (to put
it more crudely) will ever make a buck for anybody.  In the abstract, I
believe most people would agree with this proposition.  The writings of
Baruch Spinoza and Philip Levine, for example, appeal to a very small
(though very passionate) following.  It would take a brave person indeed
(or perhaps a Jesse-Helms-caliber ignoramus) to say that they had therefore
very little value.  Indeed, Beethoven himself probably has fewer fans
than, say, Britney Spears.  I do question Babbitt's contention that the
split is inevitable and permanent.  Indeed, I believe events have come
around -- if not Babbitt's way -- now to somewhat of a rapprochement.
Serious composers, many of whose views of music Babbitt has influenced,
are hitting at least the classical-music public, as shown by the careers
of Reich, Adams, Rouse, Kernis, Larsen, Whitacre, Crumb, Golijov, and
others.  In fact, Babbitt's article, written in 1958, necessarily doesn't
even take into account such things as the late works of Britten and
Tippett and Davies.  I believe it also assumes a rather dated view of
history itself: that art moves inexorably along an inevitable, almost
predetermined path, rather than "stuff happens." A composer's music may
develop, but music in general does not.  Composers have, after all,
control only over their own work.  How could it be otherwise?  Babbitt
here becomes way too Hegelian for Mrs. Schwartz's little boy, who has
never actually seen a Zeitgeist or an historical dialectic.

I used to hate Babbitt too, until I heard the music itself.  As with
most composers I listen to, I don't enjoy everything he writes.  On the
other hand, he has created works I wouldn't want to be without, including
the delightfully jazzy All Set, Relata I, the dramatic freakout Philomel,
the lovely Cavalier Settings for voice and guitar and Beaten Paths for
marimba, and some really exciting piano music I've heard only live.
Some of it's even fun, a word not normally associated with this composer.
I've seen many people scrunch up their foreheads and grit their teeth,
as if they were in for either a trip to the dentist or a music-theory
analysis made audible, and then relax as the music came to them.  I
listen to Babbitt as I listen to anybody else: the music has to work on
either my heart ("wow, that's beautiful") or my mind ("wow, that's neat")
before I want to know how it's put together.  It's not the same thing
as Puccini, of course, because there's only one Puccini and there's only
one Babbitt.  It's also not the same thing as Webern, although there are
obvious points of take-off from one to the other.  Composers worth their
salt say things in their own way, despite shared procedures or even
materials.

The music here receives premiere recordings.  Some of it I like very
much; some of it I can leave alone.  I'll get the leave-alone part out
of the way first.  Manifold, for organ, simply doesn't grab me.  Frankly,
it sounds like mud.  Some of my reaction is undoubtedly due to a dislike
of a lot of organ music, some due to the thick registration and textures.
Intriguing rhythms tend to get buried.  Less would be more, as far as
I'm concerned.

On the other hand, Quatrains for voice and two clarinets sets a
marvelous poem by Babbitt favorite John Hollander, who supplied the
text for Philomel.  Much of the attraction of the piece for me lies
in the possibilities of sonority inherent in the combination --
possibilities Babbitt seizes.  The timbres of the two instruments
and voice are remarkably similar, thus setting up opportunity for
ambiguities of entrance and line.  But this type of ambiguity would get
old fast if the composer also didn't find ways to distinguish the forces
as well.  Babbitt does this as well, creating lines both complex and of
a strikingly individual, independent stamp.  I'd mislead if I said this
was lyrical in the way most listeners think of lyricism -- that is, in
a nineteenth-century way -- but, then again, different people sing in
different ways.  Quatrains happens to enchant me - another word I don't
normally associate with this composer.

Babbitt makes things hard for himself in My Ends Are My Beginnings for
solo clarinet and bass clarinet.  Fans of early music will probably
recognize Babbitt's reference to the Machaut Ma fin est mon commencement.
Essentially Babbitt's work, in three sections, consists of 15 minutes
for solo clarinet.  Furthermore, there isn't a lot of contrast between
movements.  Bach, after all, in his solo suites uses different dances
to distinguish different movements.  Babbitt's "song and dance" pretty
much stays the same from movement to movement.  It's three of the same
kind of piece.  However, Babbitt gets his variety within a section, each
one a virtuoso expressive workout for the player.  Fortunately, Babbitt
lucks out with his performer, clarinetist Allen Bluestine, of Speculum
Musicae, who somehow manages to turn his clarinet into a cello and
Babbitt's Webernian thistles into exquisite, communicative song.

By the time we get to Soli et Duettini for two guitars, at least one
of Babbitt's predilections becomes apparent: a fascination with the
juxtaposition of the same or related instruments -- the seamless moving
between homogeneity and contrast of sound.  I found this piece hard to
get to know, and I certainly can't at this point claim mastery or even
familiarity.  But I do like it.  It seems to evoke the soul of the guitar,
to suit down to the ground the instrument's expressive character --
reflection, intimacy, and mercurial mood switches.  You catch yourself,
in the words of disc annotator Matthias Kriesberg, leaning in.

Swan Song No. 1 -- for "broken consort" of flute, oboe, mandolin, guitar,
violin, and cello -- at first glance appears as the joker in the pack,
an ensemble that exploits color contrasts.  But even here, Babbitt tries
to inhabit his half-world with the juxtaposition of mandolin, guitar,
and pizzicato strings, and the subtle differentiation of plucks.  The
music steps lively, in an almost Stravinskian way, with that same precision
of sonic imagination and razor-sharp rhythm.  It boasts, I think, the
most immediately-attractive surface.  This and the Quatrains are my
favorite pieces on the program.

The performances are all first-rate.  I've mentioned Bluestine, but I
should also especially cite soprano Tony Arnold and clarinetists Charles
Neidich and Ayako Oshima for their singing accounts.  Arnold manages
the trick of not performing new music, but music.  Babbitt thus doesn't
become a special case or a nine-days' wonder, like (as Dr. Johnson says)
a dog walking on its hind legs.  We get simply extraordinary music-making
from all parties.

One small quibble: Matthias Kriesberg's mostly entertaining and even
informative liner notes are marred at the beginning by a self-congratulatory
tone -- that Babbitt's fans should pat themselves on the back for their
small numbers.  This to me makes no sense.  I would no more congratulate
myself for liking Babbitt than I would for liking Vaughan Williams or
chocolate ice cream, for that matter.  I listen almost exclusively for
pleasure (although pleasure isn't simply one thing, but many-sided), not
for a gold star on my tastes.  This kind of "the chosen vs.  the
Philistines" does Babbitt no good at all.

Steve Schwartz