When tonight’s Shakespeare in the Park performance of Bacchae began with heavy drums and repetitive melody, I became entranced by the beating sounds and subtle harmonies, forgetting entirely my previous expectation of boring repetitive irritating obvious music in the boring repetitive irritating obvious modern tradition.  The setting of Shakespeare in the Park is beautiful, with Belvedere Castle lit up on a hill behind the stage.  For a few moments, everything: the lighting, the set design, music, setting, and even the amphitheater seating, came together in as close as one can get to Wagner’s Gesamtkunstwerk without actually getting close at all.  Then the clean-cut curly haired kid walked out on stage in jeans, and my mind drifted away from Gesamtkunstwerk.

We live in a particular period of time with particular changing social values.  You could say we live in interesting times, but isn’t it likely that all times are interesting to those who are interested in them?  Gender is in the middle of bending; woman’s liberation has taken a new turn away from direct competition with men;  single mothers are reworking of the meaning of the term nuclear family;  works involving race are given preference in almost every public performance venue thereby proving a pervasive inequality;  technological progress has made birth unnecessary for life; the American tradition of informality has reached a certain apex with the glorification of underwear as outerwear from which we can only retreat if we are not to go fully nude; the hypocrisy of human rights has all but officially imploded;  and the notions of nation-states and borders are beginning to seem artificial and oppressive.

All these seemingly modern concepts and conflicts lie latent within the original 5th century BC Greek tragedy of Euripedes’ Bacchae, a story involving divine retribution for the lack of fealty from mankind.  A skilled director would have so much high potential raw material to work with if putting it on stage in today’s social context.  But as should have been irritatingly predictable and obvious, Philip Glass’s collaborator in this Shakespeare on the Park production is irritatingly predictable and obvious.

Not even the tragedy’s debauched women in the mountains, cross-dressing kings, broken urban families, surrogate birthing, savage murder, Asian invasions, or old blind black men in sequin-lined pants can make up for unimaginative and heavy-handed directing.  It’s not that the director, Philip Glass’ ex-wife, didn’t try to be meaningful and relevant.  It’s that she tried so hard she didn’t even come close at all.  Doesn’t she know you can’t escape The Fates?

As lovers of a good hamburger must, and as a negligent blogger should, we arrived several hours before the performance in order to allow ample time for analysis of the impending hamburger consumption along two axes: immediate flavor impact, and gustation variation over time.  Music-lovers will clearly see the relation between hamburger analysis and earlier notes on the harmony/melody duality of music.

For a hamburger, like a piece of western music, is a multi-faceted thing, ill-treated if considered only in terms of its immediate impact upon one’s sensory receptors.  Variation over time is critical to a modern conception of beauty, as evidenced no more clearly than in the Baptist church, where even gays are beautiful, so long as they’re trying, over time, to change their aberrant ways.  I guess this means that a Baptist homosexual, at any given moment, is like a single dissonant chord.  Put a bunch of dissonant chords together, and you get jazz.

Brussel Sprouts with Bacon at PJ Clarke's

Now I have no idea where that analogy was going, but it definitely was not the reason why I ordered brussel sprouts and fries with the hamburger.  I think that was more a result of the searching eyes of the tall, fresh, young waiter, clearly a by-product of the Mid-West’s dairy industry.  His name was James or Brad or something, and there was no possibility of not ordering a draught beer, brussel sprouts, and fries with the hamburger so long as this blonde Übermensch was asking piercing questions, like, “What will you be ordering today?” and calling me “buddy” as I sat, at least ten years his elder, in my navy blue suit at a picnic tablecloth covered table with my exotic-looking date in full opera getup.

I remembered what I had liked about PJ Clarke’s.  It’s the sort of place where you feel democratized but not compromised.  When Brad brought over the romantic candle to place on our picnic tablecloth, I thanked him, gesturing in Nina’s direction with the words, “Oh, thanks, that’ll do the trick.”  Beautiful Brad, exotic Nina, and I had a good chuckle, and I started to get buzzed.

The hamburgers, draught beer, and brussel sprouts arrived and were of high quality and good.  God, there’s nothing like a brussel sprout to get the beer down.

The hamburger and all the condiments were very good.  If it weren’t for the slightly flavorless beef, I would easily call it a better burger than the Corner Bistro burger.  But flavorless beef being flavorless beef, this hamburger was not better.  I consider that to be a shame because I far prefer the pretentiously casual ambience at PJ Clarke’s to the grimy honest informality of the Corner Bistro.

PJ Clarke's Hamburger with Bacon, Mushrooms, and Swiss Cheese

The fries were as can be expected, and that was exactly what I’d expected.  The pickle on the side was fully sour, which perfectly accompanied the task at hand, despite my usual outspoken preference for its half sour brethren.  Did I mention that the brussel sprouts were cooked to perfection as was the bacon?  The bun, while nondescript, had been lightly toasted on the inside and proved to be a useful force multiplier for handling the entire deliciously oversized package into my mouth.

By the time the mid-level porcelain plates were barren, it was time for the pre-concert lecture by the appreciably dry humoured composer, Richard Wilson.  The lecture proved to be much more engaging than the actual mid-20th century compositions by Luigi Dallapiccola which was thankfully only tangentially its topic.

Across the street, in Alice Tully Hall, Wilson explained the basic concept behind the 12-tone composition technique, something which is so simple, yet so oft misunderstood.  While western classical music has traditionally been “in key”, or tonal, 12-tone compositions are generally not.

Twelve-tone composers pick a theme of 12 non-repeating notes, called a tone row, and use variations upon that theme as a replacement for the affordances that tonality usually offers.  In other words, 12-tone compositions find other ways to make the music interesting over time than the simple techniques of leading notes and cirlcle-of-fifths standard harmonies.

Unfortunately, a lot of people don’t find atonal music interesting at all.  And Wilson wryly remarked that it may have been better for posterity if Arnold Shoenberg had kept the details of this 12-tone music composition technique in the closet, thus leaving the audience’s focus on the music, not the technique.  How does the music make you feel?

By this point, the hamburger and brussel sprouts had established a solid foundation in my stomach, and judging by my feelings of agility, both mental and physical, the level of quality in the overarching 12-tone hamburger experience was feeling pretty high.  For music, like hamburgers, as I think I’ve mentioned, should be judged along both axes: immediate impact, and variation over time.

It is my firm belief that Luigi Dallapiccola’s operas are not especially interesting in either story or music, but that Richard Wilson is an engaging didact.  The hamburger was great, but the meat could use more flavor.

By the end of the hour, Nina, a girl with no prior musical or culinary instruction, understood perfectly the use of the 12-tone atonal system in contemporary composition and the importance of high quality ingredients.

el maestro venezolano

As you may already know, if you have ever heard me play, I am a big fan of Antonio Lauro’s compositions for guitar.  Antonio Lauro is a Great Composer for the Guitar.  Why?  I’ll tell you in a second.

First, let’s establish that, ignoring rhythm and dynamics, there are two basic ways to look at western music: in terms of melody, or as a series of chords (i.e. harmonies).  When viewing written music, harmonies are the vertical organization of a group of notes, while melodies are series of notes that flow horizontally across the page.

chords from Mussorgsky's "Pictures at an Exhibition"

melody from "Pop Goes the Weasel"

Some styles of music emphasize the harmony, while others emphasize melody.  For example, it is well known that rock music and jazz standards follow very well-established chordal (i.e. harmonic) structures, the most common being the I-IV-V (”one four five”).  It is not uncommon for a musician to know dozens of songs that all follow the same chordal structure.  While the basic harmonies stay the same, the difference between such songs is generally to be found in the melody, so you could say that these are very melodic types of music.

Conversely, Sibelius’ Finlandia and Rachmaninov’s Second Piano Concerto are good examples of music emphasizing harmonic structures. While both pieces undoubtedly use melody (harmony and melody are fundamentally inseperable, and discriminating between the two is just a tool for analysis), the  harmonies are what set the mood.  Notice that the moods are very different between the two pieces.

peasant woman digging up potatoes

This harmony/melody duality in western music is very noticeable in classical guitar music. By its very structure, a guitar makes chord playing easy. Brushing the guitar crudely with one finger will produce harmonies whether you like them or not.  This vulgarity, along with its portable, itinerant nature, is one reason why the guitar has not historically been considered a classical instrument.

Before Andrés Segovia, the guitar had fallen into disrepute as an instrument suitable for simple peasant music… strumming simple folk tunes for simpleminded drinkers (like rock music today).  Segovia made a concerted effort during his lifetime to pick the guitar up out of the ashes, and put it in what he considered its rightful place among classical instruments.  Whether he was justified in bothering to try, and whether he was successful are not the topic of this post, but it is a fact that the classical guitar repertoire has expanded dramatically ever since.

Meanwhile, over in the wild-eyed Americas, ever since the colonization of the Americas, Latin American artists have been fusing indigenous rhythms and melodies with the chordal possibilities of western instruments and western harmonic standards (to say nothing of rhythms).  The guitar, introduced by the Spanish and Portuguese (and possibly similar to existing indigenous instruments), has caught on and proven itself a natural fit for indigenous latin-american music.  Late 19th and early 20th century latin-american composers for the guitar, like Mexican Manuel Ponce, and Augustin Barrios (who preferred to perform in traditional Paraguayan costume) fused indigenous melodies with western classical guitar tradition.

Agustín Barrios Mangoré

Given the nascent resistance to vulgar music in the then-civilized society, up-and-coming latin-american composers like Heitor Villa-Lobos, assisted by Andres Segovia, did everything possible in the middle 20th century to convince western audiences that their guitar music was not vulgar peasant folk rock.  Nevertheless, the similarities between some of Villa-Lobos’ works and choro, a type of jazzy Brazilian street music (as perfected by choro master Pixinguinha), whether intentional or not, are, in retrospect, undeniable.

Today, in our cut-and-paste world, we again embrace indigenous flavor as a sign of “authenticity”.  Antonio Lauro’s compositions are the embodiment of state-of-the-americas classical guitar music.  They look back towards the past, while giving a little hint of the future.

Lauro’s pieces unabashedly and seamlessly blend traditional western harmonies with indigenous melodies.  He has an uncanny ability to sneak in an indigenous rhythms even into the most standard structure.  While not very experimental in terms of harmonic form, his pieces take from the best of what has preceded them, and add a bit of flourish.

Furthermore, each composition fluidly takes advantage of the inherent proclivities of the guitar, giving the compositions a natural feeling to the performer.  This comfort with the physical movements required, combined with the melodic focus, affords the performer an ability to explore her inner duende, and leads to a more enjoyable experience for both performer and listener.

Antonio Lauro is a Great Composer for the Guitar.  Now it’s time to move on to modern music.