Babbitt: Soli E Duettini
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Milton Babbitt (b. 1916) Soli e Duettini One prepossessing characteristic of Milton Babbitt's music is that its lines jump around a lot. However...
Milton Babbitt (b. 1916)
Soli e Duettini
One prepossessing characteristic of Milton Babbitt's
music is that its lines jump around a lot. However
intrinsically appealing, this gains something from the
fact that they also do not. The jumps sample streams of
slower activity, communicate between them. This
addition slows the frantic motion - better, changes our
impression of it without slowing it: what is highly
agitated is also carefully grounded, even gently
regulated. Polyphony of movement defines Babbitt's
sound: fast and slow, disjointed and regular, manic and
glacial--dichotomies peculiarly unavailable even while
suggested by singular multiplicity of motion.
The phenomenon may be clearest with slower
action suspended, as at the beginning of Around the
Horn. Three oddly spaced pitches are revisited,
gradually brought into motion (the lower ones resist
longer). Such "polyphonic" hearing is not pressed so
obviously by the free, wide-ranging tunes that open
None But The Lonely Flute or Soli e Duettini, but it is
available there, too, retaining and connecting distinctive
points in the fantastic contours. Babbitt typically makes
every note figure in several melodies: at least the
melody of its immediate predecessors and successors
(possibly rather unlike it) and the slower melody of
notes like it (possibly removed from it in time). These
melodies often reflect one another across disparities of
character and speed; but more fundamental than any
resemblance is the simple fact that they are all there.
The essence of Babbitt's sound is several things going
on at a time--even with only one note.
Babbitt's writing may not change much for groups
of instruments: combining their tunes into an ensemble
tune need not differ in principle from combining tunes
within one of their parts. The creation of a virtual
polyphony in a single line, one of the oldest tricks in the
book, gets an idiosyncratic reading in Babbitt's actual
polyphony. Often the ensemble plays one melody, with
the capacity occasionally to hold a note over into the
next, or introduce a few notes at a time.
Babbitt's multilayered melodiousness can be
assimilated to the one characteristic always attributed to
his music, its being twelve-tone: the slower lines are the
rows (roughly). But to view Babbitt's polyphony as a
device for high-density transmission of the series is to
choose a grimly functional interpretation over
alternatives more engaging, and more apparent. Better
to err in the other direction and imagine the series
working, often behind the scenes, to keep skittishness
from being sheer scatter. The result is distinctive
motion: adroitly unnatural, with startlingly agile objects
moving to more than one place at more than one speed,
rearranging ordinary associations between effort and
expression, mixing stress and lightness.
The most spectacular results may be in Around the
Horn (1993), performed by William Purvis, for whom it
was written. The title's pun predicts the piece's conduct:
the horn has to be almost everywhere in a two-and-ahalf-
octave range almost all the time. Before hearing the
piece, it is hard to imagine how horn music could move
like this; upon hearing it, it is hard to imagine how
Purvis achieves such facility without denaturing his
sound, which is always highly charged, finely inflected,
and utterly characteristic of the instrument. Besides
mixing high and low, loud and soft, the music varies
sharply in character, suddenly delicate or wild or heroic,
perhaps following with a deflating aside. The horn's
traditional associations play into a striking harmonic
trait: "diatonic" figures, including plenty of major
triads, against a distinctly nondiatonic background. One
further association is with the virtuoso horn playing of
Gunther Schuller; the piece is dedicated to the memory
of his wife Marjorie.
In None But The Lonely Flute (1991), again the line
moves constantly through a wide range; but since this
requires no exceptional effort on the flute, the
impression is different. An ordinary quality of the flute
gets extraordinarily free play (one reviewer wrote of
"pure fluting"); it speaks easily, in exceptionally long,
clear phrases, whose internal variety is voluble rather than
dramatic. Gradually these phrases grow reluctant to end,
potential endings undermined by the return of preceding
details. There are no major changes, no marked
sections--just a long, long tune.
The lines of Melismata (1982) attain their length in a
different way. The title suggests their sense of floridly
ornamentating something slow, a sense that must arise
from the clearer presence of a beat, and a different mix of
fast and slow. Very striking is the possibility of a long
note at almost any moment. The registral movement is
different, too: the entire range often seems to be in play
even when parts of it are not actually sounding; passages
of narrow range seem contracted.
Play It Again, Sam (1989) is the most mercurial solo.
With an often bumptious registral discontinuity come
frequent switches in playing technique, shifts in tempo,
variation of harmonic flavour, and, most interestingly,
almost incessant change in the rate of change in various
dimensions. The possibilities even include outbreaks of
continuity (often lyrical and high), tempering the
potential jokiness. (The title's famously apocryphal
quotation from Casablanca makes a technical allusion to
Babbitt's Arie da Capo.)
Opportunities may be limited in Babbitt's study for
snare drum, Homily (1987), but the score's afterword
draws a promise of transcendence from St John
Chrysostom: "And why, is it asked, are there so many
snares? That we may not fly low, but seek the things that
are above". Multilinearity is sought in the realm of
dynamics, often underscored by use of two different
beaters at once. Still this piece may be hard to hear as
contrapuntal, since louder strokes so easily dominate
softer ones. While Homily's durational construction is
like that of most of the other pieces, it is simpler in effect,
showing how contour, timbre, and pitch enliven Babbitt's
rhythm under normal conditions.
Dynamic stratification is easy to hear on the
marimba: in Beaten Paths (1988), counterpoint between
sharply struck notes and ghostly ones is as vivid as that
between high and low ones. This may be natural, given
the equivocal registral effect of single marimba tones; the
same timbral peculiarity allows the piece's octaves not to
stand out sharply (as in Soli e Duettini or Whirled Series).
Registral counterpoint makes Beaten Paths a kind of duo,
high and low; but its sectional contrasts come more from
sonority than range: changes in the color of the bubbling.
The local rhythms are delicate and tricky, inflected by
dynamic crosscutting, contour, and timbre.
Babbitt's ideal of more than one thing happening at a
time reaches a technical extreme Soli e Duettini (1989;
the second of three pieces with this title). Not only is each
instrument's part a self-sufficient polyphony that might
suffice for a solo piece (that literally does in None But
The Lonely Flute), but they do not quite share the same
series. More immediately, they don't act much alike: the
guitar part is amply polyphonic in itself, and the two parts
often slide past each other rhythmically, not interlocking
as simply or as often as in the other duos. Susan Palma-
Nidel and David Starobin, who negotiate these rhythmic
disengagements and reengagements with such grace, are
the work's dedicatees.
The applicability of this work's title to the entire
collection may be a fortuity, but its application to the
work's form is direct: the instruments' comings and
goings create clear sections. This is the only piece for
which it would be easy to lay out a "form" -- flute solo,
duo (long, punctuated halfway by an abortive guitar solo),
guitar solo, duo (short), flute, duo (short), guitar, duo
(long, ending with a brief flute solo, even more quizzical
for coming last). This is not terribly informative
(comments on changes of pace would improve it), but it
does identify the soli and duettini comprised in this
duetto.
A similar list for Whirled Series (1987), this
collection's duettone, would have to mention parts of the
instruments' ranges -- "top of saxophone, middle of
piano," "bottom of saxophone, extremes of piano" -- and
would be very long. Better just to say that the piece
traffics in contrasts of this kind; and that the sorting of
registers is further inflected by differences between single
and mixed ranges in each instrument, and between equal
and unequal mixing. More than any plan of succession,
the sheer variety of these combinations is easy to
appreciate, the escape they represent from any
prefabricated notion of the sonorously balanced, and the
fluent oddity of Babbitt's writing for saxophone (one of
his instruments).
A particular pleasure is the unpredictability of
coincidence between the partners. One twists through a
complex lick, the other enters -- bop! -- to make a little
chord out of one fast note, or to stop the figure in its
tracks. They can meet any time, doing anything; whether
by close coordination or happy accident, who is to say?
Babbitt's ensembles always feature this; Whirled Series is
a feast of it. The final passage of fast-and-slow motion,
about 45 seconds of exuberant running in place, presents
an epitome of Babbitt's tone, splitting the difference
between intensely inner-directed and relentlessly "on,"
austere and daft.
It would be good for the appreciation of Babbitt to
focus on qualities like daring, wit, and evasion of
dichotomies, rather than the usual allegations of order,
structure, and rationality. The received unwisdom must
depend on the wider availability of words about Babbitt's
music than of his music; the likeliest source of
understanding, as of pleasure, remains the music, as
presented in projects like this one and by performers like
the Group for Contemporary Music, thoroughly
impressive even one or two at a time.
Joseph Dubiel