I did end up making it to Berlin in January, just barely in time to still experience the surreal border crossing choreography that was still in place for Westerners wishing to travel from East Berlin into West Berlin:  Coming in from within the Eastern Bloc, you arrived  in East Berlin’s Lichtenberg station and took the Ost S-Bahn to the massive transit hub at Friedrichstraße.  You got off the train and went down below the platform into a labyrinth of long lines and passport control only to come back up just one platform over in the same station, where you were effectively now in West Berlin and could board a West Berlin-bound S-Bahn.  It was very strange.

During that visit I was able to join the throngs of people hacking at the wall with whatever tools were available.  It was one big party all along the wall, which we followed from Checkpoint Charlie to the Brandenburg Gate.  By then the gaps in the wall were substantial enough that one could peek through and see the vast empty space that had once been Potsdamer Platz, which in its time was one of the most bustling spots in Europe, and leveled in World War II.  Now it was nothing but a field of mud and grass that was overrun by — wait for it — bunnies.

That Summer, as part of the reunification process, the Ostmark  (East German currency tied to the East Bloc economy) had just been discontinued, and East German citizens were required to exchange them for West German Marks before a certain date, or risk being left with worthless currency.  (I still have a handful of Ostmarks. Shhh…. don’t tell the Stasi.)  While official reunification still had not occurred, Germany was effectively now one country.  The bizarre in-between status of that period is best illustrated by what happened to me as I made preparations for a return trip in July:

Having learned my lesson from the Czechs before, I dutifully went to what was left of the East German embassy in Budapest for a transit visa to get through East Germany to West Berlin.  After waiting for what seemed like an oddly long time, given that the place was deserted.  There seemed to be a complication, so  I inquired.  The bureaucrat behind the window was smiling, almost giggling:

“Vell, Mister Kaulkin, ze problem is, you are reqvired to have a trenzit visa in order to cross East Germany into Vest Germany.  However, zair iss no longer a border betveen East Germany and Vest Germany, and so zair is no such thing as a trenzit visa!”

His advice?  ”Don’t vorry about it.”

Posting has been consistent for the past week or so.  The name “Hell Mouth” promises a lot.  I hope he’ll have time to stick with it.  Interestingly, he has enabled comments.  Brave, brave man.

Sutartinės are little polyphonic vocal gems performed by two, three or four singers.  Melodies generally consist of little repeating figures, usually syncopated and containing only a few pitches.  Counterpoint is derived in different ways, depending on how many parts there are.  What interests me so much about this tradition is that the very specific counterpoint rules that it follows results in very beautiful combinations of intervals, including lots of parallel seconds.  If written down and presented to highly trained singers, these would be a real bear to put together, but peasant women have been singing them in this one little corner of Lithuania for centuries.

There’s quite a bit written about this, so I won’t go into more detail about the theory stuff.  The following audio examples come from a Lithuanian folklore web site, where you can also see a transcription corresponding to each one.

A dvejinė is a two-part sutartinė consisting of two short repeating sections.  In this example, the second part is sung concurrently with the first, but a faux canon is achieved by delaying the second part’s entrance.  Listen

This three-part example, or trejinė is closer to what we think of as a normal canon.  There are two sections, only one is longer than the first.  The second voice enters after the first voice has sung the first section.  The third voice enters after the second has completed the first section.  Here’s where it gets really interesting. (Steve Reich, are you listening?)  Since the second section is slightly longer than the first, voice one is still on the last part of the second section when voice three enters.  The result is a constant shifting, such that the harmony and texture are slightly different with each iteration after all three voices have entered.  It’s hard to explain…. Listen

Here’s another trejinė that’s structured a little differently.  Listen

In the keturinė, or four-part sutartinė, two pairs of singers take turns singing a repeating two-part passage.  In this example, as seems to be typical of these pieces, the two parts are offset by seconds, making for some interesting harmonies.  Listen

The harmonies and rhythms that occur in these pieces certainly make one wonder if Stravinsky was familiar with this tradition as he developed his unique sound.  The phasing technique that Steve Reich is famous for is also a component here.  I wonder if he knows this music.

Seán Deibler, 1947-2009

My college teacher, mentor and great friend ever since then, Seán Deibler passed away on August 19th. Most of what is important enough to me to write about on this blog can, in one way or another, be traced back to my 24-year association with him. He was a conductor, a singer, a clarinetist, a composer, a teacher, a motivational speaker, a clown, a therapist… The list goes on, and what’s really exceptional is that he was phenomenal at all of the above.

Seán conducted the choruses and taught musicianship at the University of the Arts when I was an undergraduate there in the 1980’s. He also founded and conducted both the Choral Arts Society of Philadelphia and the Music Group of Philadelphia. He allowed me to sing in the former, which meant I got to perform and record with the Philadelphia Orchestra as well as the likes of Riccardo Muti, Charles Dutoit, Erich Leinsdorf, Jessye Norman. I did not sing with Music Group, but in 1996 Seán gave me the honor of using hard-won grant money to commission my chorus/orchestra piece Cycle of Friends which was given a stunning premiere by The Music Group.

Seán spent most of the 1970’s studying conducting, chamber music and pedagogy at the Franz Liszt Academy in Budapest. When he returned he became a prominent pioneer in bringing what’s known as the Kodály Method to the United States and was a sought-after clinician for many years. He made frequent guest conducting appearances in Hungary and around Europe throughout his career, and was a great ambassador for American music there. Likewise, he generously performed the work of living Hungarian composers with his groups in Philadelphia, and in 1998, he received the Medal Pro Artibus, Artist of Outstanding Merit for promotion of Hungarian music abroad by the Hungarian Ministry of Cultural Arts.

Like many of my fellow students, I became friends with Seán during those four years of the Late 80’s. He was very generous with his free time and spent many hours with us individually and in groups of various sizes. Just hanging out, listening to music, talking about music and everything else. I dare say I learned more about music (and everything else) sitting across the table from Seán at Day’s Delicatessen or Little Pete’s than in any classroom. When it was time to figure out what to do after college, Seán had many suggestions, composers he knew at this or that graduate school, but ultimately I ended up doing exactly what he had done: studying in Budapest, Hungary at the Franz Liszt Academy.

Please read Seán’s obituary that was published in the Philadelphia Inquirer. Also, in 1989, Seán made a rare appearance as a baritone soloist and performed a work of mine on my senior recital, which was recorded on video. Here he is in his prime.

Composing
I haven’t done much composing since my string quartet work City Walks was premiered in May, but I’m now starting a new project, which will be a piece for the Slovenian new music ensemble MD7.  I had the privilege of hearing this group play in there home base of Ljubljana when I was there in 2007 visiting there resident conductor Steven Loy, a partner-in-crime going back over 20 years.  This is an unusual ensemble consisting of flute, clarinet, trombone, percussion, piano, viola and cello − a combination that promises a lot of possibilities.  The goal is a premiere in Ljubljana next summer, and hopefully more performances in the future, as they’re cooking some international travel plans. Also on the stove are plans for a Bay Area premiere as well.

Learning

This summer I spent a stimulating and fun three weeks attending the Summer Kodály Institute at Holy Names University right here in Oakland. The Summer Institute offers an intensive three weeks of solfège, conducting, pedagogy and chorus for music teachers who are interested in learning the Kodály Method or, as in my case, already know it and wish to brush up.    I took advanced solfège and conducting, both with the amazing Judit Hartyányi, who’s head of the music education department at the Liszt Academy in Budapest.

The solfège part was a wonderful refresher, both on my own musicianship skills and my way of teaching.  I was reminded of the importance of memory development and inner hearing, which I’m now applying heavily in my current teaching roles.  It was also fun to brush up on choral conducting, although I have no particular aspirations (or talent) in that area.  I got to prepare an old favorite of mine, the chorale “The Blessed Son of God” from the Vaughan Williams Christmas cantata Hodie, and conduct it on the final concert.   (I’m told it went well.)

If nothing else, the Kodály Institute reinforced my conviction that, by and large, music conservatories in this country are only scratching the surface when it comes to musicianship training.   All I can do is sigh.

Teaching
This summer, partly inspired by the Kodály Institute, I finally hung out my shingle and launched my private teaching studio.  I’m offering both composition and a combination of musicianship and theory.  Typically, those interested in the former need help with the latter as a prerequisite, so they get a little bit of everything.    I’m in the planning stages of offering classes in sight reading that will be of interest primarily to choral singers.  Nothing to promise yet, but this might get started as early as the beginning of 2010 here in the East Bay.

In addition to my position on the preparatory musicianship/composition faculty at the San Francisco Conservatory, as of this Fall, I’m now also filling the exact same role at the Crowden School in Berkeley.  Crowden is a very unusual place: the students, grades 4 through 8, all play a string instrument and they spend about 2 hours a day on music.  Two hours!   I thoroughly enjoy working with the kids at both places, and since I’m teaching the very beginning level, I can hope to be setting a strong foundation in musicianship for all of them.

I admire Minna’s restraint as an arranger here. Note the use of a sole bass drum as the entire percussion battery. The singers add color and depth without ever pulling focus from the front man. Enjoy!

I’m particulary fond of this passage in Scott’s article:

Conrad Susa’s music is of a fashion some writers may call accessible, a reprehensible term deserving a lifetime Sour Grapes Award on behalf of twitchy academic composers everywhere. Forget the term, and forget everything some well-intentioned sap has told you about contemporary music.

One is not required to understand the music, or appreciate it. It’s perfectly OK simply to enjoy it, let it be what it is and refrain from labels, -isms, -ibles, cubbyholes and pigeonholes. Susa offers the notion of “a transfiguration of an ordinary moment. And it puts a halo around a time of day and makes it blessed, something is conferred on it, or it confers something.”

Last week pianist Julie Nishimura, who participated in that 1994 performance, gave me the honor of including the piece in a concert celebrating her 20 years as faculty accompanist at the university.  This time she was joined by the wonderful clarinetist Marianne Gythfeldt, also of the U. Delaware music faculty.

Here’s a high-definition video of the performance.

American Standard is included on the British label Clarinet Classics’ CD Time Pieces – 60 Years of American Music for Clarinet and Piano