Like his music or leave it, Milton Babbitt left an indelible mark on music in the 20th century. His passing earlier this year was noted by many. Lucy Shelton decided to alter her planned program for this evening at the Italian Academy at Columbia University by substituting one of Babbitt's most highly-regarded works, Philomel, for some others on the program While this decision is understandable, and it was indeed a pleasure to hear this work, its inclusion did have perhaps an adverse impact on the entire program.
Philomel is the third major work of Babbitt's to include synthesizer. It is notable that the synthesizer used was and is housed just about four blocks from where this performance took place. I have taught a portion of this work for years but, to be honest, had never heard a compete recording or performance of it. This performance was special in at least two ways. First of all, the work includes a recorded voice that is often manipulated a la musique concrete. Ms. Shelton decided to use the recorded voice of Bethany Beardslee, the singer for whom the work was composed. To hear the interaction between Ms. Shelton and Ms.Beardslee's recorded voice was quite fascinating. The second thing that made this performance special to me was the synthesized sounds. The quality of the recording and the speaker system in the hall made it such that you could almost touch the sounds. The variety of timbres was quite vivid. The sense of spatial distribution of the sounds was also amazing.
Although it is quite appropriate to create contrast in a concert by programming contrasting works, pairing a "maximalist" work such as Philomel, which throws much at the listener over a 25-minute period, with a "minimalist" work of about 45 minutes where change is slow and a sense of activity almost nonexistent is a dangerous thing. The result was that, in my opinion, the second work, La perfezione di uno spirito sottile by Salvatore Sciarrino, was not given a fair hearing. A very static work, its effect on the audience was not helped by the almost inert stage presence by the flutist and the stage setting. The flutist stood on one side of the stage facing the singer, who was on the other side. She was angled slightly to the audience. Given the fact that most of the work features solo flute, having the flutist similarly slightly angled to the audience would have not only established more rapport with the audience but would have also allowed the sound to go out into the room more effectively.
The beginning of this work is quite fascinating, with the flutist using many different extended flute techniques to create an atmosphere that was quite haunting. I am reminded of some of Henry Cowell's works for piano where he has the pianist strum, pluck, swipe and strike the strings of the piano. An image of the moon was projected on a screen which gave an "otherwordly" feel to the stage. The text sung by Ms. Shelton consists of four lines inscribed on a gold tablet from ancient Crete and was intended as a funeral lament. Individual words are often repeated many times. In a second lengthy flute solo, I found that the sound was becoming somewhat monotonous. There was very little else to engage the mind or senses however and the seats were very uncomfortable. The experience began to become an endurance contest.
It would be interesting to experience this work in a more ideal situation. Despite the image of the moon, any sense of being a witness to a ritual of arrival, burial and departure in an open, rocky landscape was lost on me. The composer's imagination is undeniable and the vocabulary of sounds rich and interesting, though they eventually became too monotonous for me. As a ritual, there was no arc nor any closure.
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