GET CARTER! The Music of Elliot
Carter (II): London Sinfonietta, Oliver Knussen (conductor), Michael
Collins (clarinet), Ian Brown (piano), John Constable
(harpsichord), BBC Symphony Orchestra, Oliver Knussen
(conductor), (additionally a film by Frank Scheffer
and a concert by the Arditti Quartet at St Giles,
Cripplegate), Barbican Centre, London, 14.01.2006
(AO)
With the Clarinet Concerto of 1996, Carter
further experimented with the spatial possibilities
of sound. There are only seventeen players plus soloist,
but they are treated as if they were emblematic of
a larger ensemble. The soloist moves from group
to group no less than seven times, each time bringing
the sub group into greater focus. Meanwhile, the
other players continue on the periphery, sometimes
quiet, sometimes interjecting. Just as we have peripheral
vision, we unconsciously listen for the outer edges
while concentrating on the centre. Silence, is part
of the awareness, because anything can happen in a
Carter piece. It adds a different, almost parallel,
texture to what’s being played.
In the Double Concerto for harpsichord and piano
with two chamber orchestras the spatial configuration
has a direct, integral role in shaping its dynamics.
The sound worlds of harpsichord and piano are so finely
calibrated that the set up on stage extends the sonority.
You can hear a foreground, a middle ground and a background,
and follow the intricate patterns to and fro. Written
for Ralph Kirkpatrick, the music stretches the boundaries
of the harpsichord repertoire beyond recognition.
Carter revels in the instruments dry character. It
is particularly good for the “scurrying effect” of
rapid fire note clusters the composer is so fond of.
Playing angular dischords and perverse patterns gives
a unique, unworldly colour. The effect, in painting
terms, is of chiaroscuro, the harpsichord a pale,
ghostly presence against the darker piano.
Each keyboard has its own surrounding sub colours.
The harpsichord has sharp dry sounds, like flute and
trumpet, and metallic percussion yet directly behind
it are double-bass and viola. The piano has more
reverberant companions, like drums, oboe, and bassoon,
violin and cello. The effect is of patterns within
patterns, arcing lines soaring and replicating, like
the intricate tracery of vaulted ceilings in medieval
architecture. Such sculpture is sometimes described
as “music in stone”. Never before has the comment
seemed more true.
Stone though, doesn’t move. The Double Concerto
is striking for its sense of trajectory. Tempi vary
back and forth, sometimes crossing, sometimes appearing
to disintegrate. While composing, Carter was reading
Lucretius, who wrote “All things keep on, in everlasting
motion, out of the infinite come the particles speeding
above, below, in endless dance…” The music evokes
perpetual motion, varying speeds and concepts of time.
Modern life is manic, 24/7. International, real-time
communications break down boundaries of place and
time. Science has shown us that Chaos Theory has
its merits. Thus, the Double Concerto’s take
on time and motion is even more fascinating now than
when it was written in 1961. Amazingly, the music
seems to live as if it were some kind of organic life
force. Certainly, Knussen, the soloists and the orchestra
play it with a real sense of involvement. Carter
may have written with mathematical precision, but
for him, music isn’t a laundry list of notes. Rather
tactlessly, he said to Conlon Nancarrow, “I don’t
write like a machine for machines”. The more we’re
deluged by processes and propaganda, he told Frank
Scheffer, the more we need organic, personal growth.
“My music”, he said, “is a picture of society as what
it could be”. It is individual, non authoritarian,
and with a human pulse. When I listen to the Double
Concerto, I’m struck by the intimate quality of
the harpsichord. It doesn’t stand a chance in terms
of volume, but you make an effort to listen because
it so bravely persists. Like a river, it sometimes
goes underground, but it doesn’t give in.
Perhaps this is why Knussen and his musicians play
this superlatively. Technically, they have the ability
to present every note with surgical precision and
to negotiate complex cross currents without losing
a beat. Yet they manage nuances of feeling that make
it exuberant and vital, giving the human touch that
means so much to the composer. It’s not something
easily copied by cheap, third rate bands. There won’t
be a budget recording of this in a long time. That’s
why I also attended the student concerts at the Guildhall,
and even the cacophonic improvisation by an amateur
orchestra in the foyer. Musical experience matters,
and without training it won’t happen.
Later in the afternoon, the Arditti Quartet gave a
concert consisting of Carter’s First and Fifth
String Quartets and Bartok’s Fourth. The
First String Quartet was Carter’s breakthrough
into a distinctive personal style and is a crucial
part of the canon. The Fifth was written
for Irvine Arditti and represents the culmination
of the series. By including the Bartok, whom Carter
knew personally, the Quartet covered the composer’s
antecedents and current work in a short but well chosen
programme. Arditti himself was in good form, and
if the present line up was less exceptional than in
the stellar past, it was still a worthwhile, enjoyable
experience
Anne Ozorio
