josh kopeček

This work is Op.5 1961, well before Kurtág’s works became (more) prominent in the 80s. It’s a very short affair, very short in the Webernian sense, with the longest movement being 2’25″ and the shortest 31″. It’s for solo viola and examines a range of techniques  – double stopping, portamento, pizzicato, harmonics, and a very wide range of dynamics. It’s a tour-de-force of economy in terms of material.

His insistence on using twelve tone technique removes any sense of large or medium-scale harmonic logic to the work, instead relying on microscopic moment to moment contrasts and relations. The logic behind the structure lies solely in a use of technique, that is, the only defining characteristic which holds each movement together is the use of a particular performance technique, since dynamics, pitch and rhythm change so suddenly for each gesture. The examination of a particular technique over a more extended time period is what lends each movement its character, and which holds the piece together as a whole, aside from the obvious pauses at the end of each movement. As for logical transitions, I don’t think it would make a difference if the movements were to be played in a different order, which in turn brings up the issue of music being ‘memorable’ and then again in turn ‘repetition’.

Both memorability and repetition to my consideration of music, repetition necessarily being the key to memorability, and also the path to boredom/disinterest. There’s a great chasm between a piece being absolutely unmemorable, a stream of consciousness (through-composed) and on the other hand being just one loop all the way through. Variation, development, contrast and recapitulation are all classical (tried and tested) ways of dealing adequately with this complex problem. It’s obvious which side of the chasm this piece by Kurtág is (with Reich’s It’s Gonna Rain on the other side).

Each movement is a miniature, and whilst brevity is admirable, it appears that each does not have enough space to breathe. By that I mean that there are enough rests in the work, but instead that there is not enough space given to the material to let it develop its own character, or to let it show its true colours. Analogy: it’s like having a jigsaw with a different design on each piece, each magnificent individually, but when put together are simply perceivable as a mass of detail, and each piece loses its individual characteristics. The material used in the piece could be seen as an ultra-condensed syrup (if you chose some better pitches) to create larger works.

In terms of form in the piece, I don’t get a sense of overarching structure, that the piece is going anywhere or resolving anything. This is simply due to the lack of (ostensible) return to any material. There is no tension on any scale, no ‘story’, just a bland grey with a few occasional glints of gold. The piece is performed with gusto by Garth Knox, much like the other solo viola pieces in this collection.

How does one approach writing for viola? Especially an examination of the sounds possible on the instrument. If one was to think about this rationally, pragmatically, there is the (Platonic) concept of the instrument – as a perfect viola and performer – and one has all the possibilities of the combinations of viola, bow and two hands on any part of the instrument, striking or bowing, coupled with an infinite variation in pressure, not to mention duration of action or its variation over its course.

For example, one can tap the belly of the viola. This is a single technique. However, one can use a single finger or multiple fingers, the thumb, fingernails, pads of the fingers, flat of the fingers, palm of the hand. One can remain in contact with the belly after striking, one can make a short sharp tap, one can scratch, swipe and everything inbetween. There are many places that produce different resonances on the belly, and it depends also where the hand holding the instrument is, for example the same tap on the belly would produce a different sound were the (left) hand holding it by the scroll, neck, strings(!), top, ribs, tailpiece etc. Just within this technique, there is a potentially unlimited variety of timbre. However, in reality plenty of these sounds would appear very similar when presented in conjunction with other sounds made by the viola, or indeed other instruments, and it wouldn’t make sense to specify when two ostensibly identical sounds which are described differently appear the same in practice.

So where is the line drawn come when trying to specify the exact sound world that we’d like to describe? If I was writing a piece which examined the sounds available just from the belly of the instrument, it would make sense to specify in detail all the attributes of the sound I’d like to be produced, given that the performer is happy to perform it, and that I’ve got a suitably quiet venue for it to be performed (i.e. not a bar or a large concert hall), unless it’s going to be amplified. However, again if I’m writing for orchestra it wouldn’t make sense to specify the last details of this technique when I have a loud brass section, but it would when I’m writing for solo strings.

There are also practical ‘human’ considerations, such as how long it takes a performer to pick up a bow in order to produce a sound with it, or how long it takes to move a hand or the instrument to a different position.

Concentrating on the sound world of the viola, it would be crazy to not admit that every technique which is possible on the viola is possible on the violin (with the notable exception of the intervals possible in double stop). What is different is the timbre of the sound coming out of the instrument when it is performed, due to the difference in size and the range. It does come out bottom in most ensembles, fourth in the string quartet, lagging desperately behind the sonorous depths of the cello and the agility of the violin, the butt of jokes in the orchestra, but on top in contemporary ensembles, like the ugly duckling suddenly given centre stage, v.i.p. treatment. All the more reason not to write for it, since so many composers have written very successful contemporary works for the instrument, and adding to the pile of unperformed contemporary viola scores is not a nice image. All the same, the inspiration for writing these pieces is great, with great contemporary virtuosos borne from the abundance of repertoire.

In preparation for the upcoming Viola and Electronics piece, I have prepared some listening:

Firstly, CDs in the Lenagan to listen to:

* Garth Knox – Works for Solo Viola
Contains: György Ligeti – Sonata for Solo Viola
György Kurtág – Jelek
James Dillon – Siorram
Pascal Dusapin – Inside
Salvatore Sciarrino – Notturni Brillanti
Luciano Berio – Sequenza VI

That makes two Transylvanian/Hungarian composers, two Italians, a Glaswegian and a Frenchman.

I sometimes find solo instrumental works hard to stomach, being for the most part particularly private affairs, both through performance and composition. I find the Ligeti immensely likeable and characterful, obviously one of his more successful works. The inlay for the CD mentions his fascination with the C string, initially being the only part of the instrument which attracted him. It also talks about the Viola in its priveliged setting in contemporary composition, and its prior shunning: it explains this through its description of its role as the ‘ugly duckling’. There is an element of truth in this, especially in terms of quartet and orchestral writing, since the instrument simply serves a function to bridge the gap between the cello and violin. However, string instruments are easily the most homogeneous of all the instrument groups, and if the range of the viola is appreciated it easily satisfy most composers’ desires.

Ligeti was obviously aware of the stigma of the instrument, and almost went overboard in highlighting its unique characteristic—the deep tone of the C string—in the first movement.

Probably one of the most important issues to tackle before beginning a solo instrumental work is the balance between vertical harmony and melodic contour. Ligeti tackles vertical harmony by making use of double stopping, and especially open strings in the second movement. Extended techniques are not used at all, instead relying on delicately composed (heavy-handed/brutal?) harmony to reinforce the harmonic sound-world. He carefully sculpts melodic contour around the harmony, it seems to me highlighting the awkward moments of juxtaposition without completely destroying the general sense of harmonic movement.

I’m not sure I can get anything from the Kurtág. Each movement seems like an awkward teenager, making a concerted effort to be ‘wrong’. Each musical moment is almost completely separate from the next, carefully considered and placed, but nonetheless with only a passing connection to its neighbours. Then again, I haven’t seen the score, but I don’t consider I would gain anything from that over simply listening. I appreciate his effort to create these miniature, completely self-contained, ultra-condensed works, much in the tradition of Webern, but I would consider my own approach to discover this material through a similar technique of precise and careful examination, but then to give it more ‘breathing space’.

I’ll come back to the rest.