Looper – Cafe Oto – London

Date: Wed 20th Feb, 2019
Time: 8.00pm
Venue: Cafe Oto (E8 3DL)

We make our Cafe Oto debut in an evening prefaced by Lee Hyla’s raucous duet We Speak Etruscan (for baritone saxophone and bass clarinet).  That piece is followed by sets where the Alexander Hawkins & Evan Parker Duo, and ENEMY each perform with Riot Ensemble musicians in PRS-funded commissions that blend notation, improvisation, and electronics.

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Looper – Birmingham

Date: Tues 19th Feb, 2019
Time: 8.00pm
Venue: The Hexagon (Birmingham, B12 9QH)

We make our Birmingham debut in an evening prefaced by Lee Hyla’s raucous duet We Speak Etruscan (for baritone saxophone and bass clarinet).  That piece is followed by sets where the Alexander Hawkins & Evan Parker Duo, and ENEMY each perform with Riot Ensemble musicians in PRS-funded commissions that blend notation, improvisation, and electronics.

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A few moments with Georg Friedrich Haas

We are very excited to announce that in January 2019 we will be giving the first performances of Solstices – a new work for ensemble by one of the world’s leading composers, Georg Friedrich Haas. The world premiere will be at Dark Music Days on 26th January, and we’ll follow up with the UK premiere at the Royal Academy of Music’s Susie Sainsbury Theatre on the 29th. As part of the build up Tim Rutherford-Johnson will be conducting several exclusive interviews with Haas about his music and inspirations.

The world premiere of the new piece will take place in Iceland in the middle of winter. So naturally, in his first conversation, Tim asked Haas about an element that has been important to his work for many years: darkness.

Tim Rutherford-Johnson: When did you start to think about using darkness in your work? What was the inspiration?

Georg Friedrich Haas: The first time I composed darkness was in my short opera Adolf Wölfli, which I wrote in 1981. Wölfli was an amazing painter, who lived in the first third of the twentieth century. He was mentally ill, and in addition to his paintings he wrote terrible, dark texts. These texts are mostly about the impossibility of grace and forgiveness. At the opera’s end it should be completely dark – only flashes of light direct the orchestra. The singer quotes the Holy Bible: ‘Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy’ – repeated several times again and again to make it clear that this ‘great joy’ will never happen. Never.

The stage director, a third class loyal citizen of the communistic German Democratic Republic, ignored and destroyed these ideas. He called me a ‘dilettante’ – and unfortunately I believed him to be right. Eighteen years later I met the German stage director Bettina Wackernagel. We never had the chance to work together, but she explained to me that these ideas of mine were very dramatic and intense. I had just been working on in vain. I decided to compose darkness within this piece. It worked.

TRJ: What does darkness symbolize for you? What is its role in your music?

GFH: What does the sound of a violin’s string symbolize in my music? What does a C sharp symbolize? They symbolize nothing. They are musical means, musical media, which can be used for any expression. It depends on the surroundings, on the musical grammar and musical logic before and after this musical element.

TRJ: Has that role changed, or its symbolism developed? I’m thinking of, for example, the different meanings of darkness in your third string quartet (the Holy Week Tenebrae service) and in vain (the return of fascism to European politics). In what ways does darkness continue to excite you as an idea? What other themes might be explored through it?

GFH: The darkness of in vain does not symbolize fascism. I am not able and not willing to write a music that could symbolize this. The dark moments in in vain may symbolize my fear and my desperation regarding the upcoming of a new fascism. But in these dark elements I also compose the utopia of a music that can only be performed by musicians who possess a high level of responsibility. Who completely trust their individual musical imaginations. And who do not need any director or conductor to create their sounds. The darkness in my opera die schöne Wunde and in my piece wohin bist du gegangen? symbolizes erotic despair. The darkness in my opera KOMA symbolizes the world of a patient in a hospital, being in a coma.

In my Ninth and Tenth String Quartets – and in the new piece for the Riot Ensemble – the darkness does not have any meaning. It is just a musical medium. I hope it is a beautiful one.

TRJ: Writing for performers to play in the dark, and from memory, is obviously very challenging. What techniques have you developed to help you achieve this?

GFH: There are no ‘techniques’. I just have to describe the musical units as plainly as possible.

TRJ: This has been an interest in your work for several years now, so presumably it has unlocked something valuable for you compositionally. I wonder if you could describe this: are there particular ideas, ways of working, musical forms and so on that you couldn’t have discovered without setting up these challenges? 

GFH: In my Third String Quartet I composed social procedures: I asked the musicians to perform ‘invitations’. If these invitations are accepted by at least one other musician, a (verbally notated) musical development is to be performed. There are also some additional formal instructions.

Within my Ninth and Tenth String Quartets the musicians also play ‘games’ – a system of clearly defined rules about how to ‘fight’ against one the other. This is fun for the musicians and the result is a music that reflects this verve.

In the Ninth String Quartet I also ask the musicians to find very precise microtonal tunings. The process of searching for and finding these harmonies creates the music.

TRJ: What role does memory play too? In what ways are you able to exploit your players’ ability to remember things (and forget them …)?

Performing music always involves memory. The musicians have to remember what they developed within the rehearsals (or what they practised alone). The only difference when performing in darkness is that you do not have any visual help to support your memory. No score to look at. No conductor to follow.

TRJ: Finally, are you able to reveal any details about the piece you are writing for us?

To compose music requires me to think within the music, within the sounds, within the time. I must not use words for it during the process of composing. Words disturb the musical imagination. Therefore I generally refuse to write or say anything about a piece before my work is finished.

 

A few more moments with Georg Friedrich Haas

In January 2019 we will be giving the first performances of Solstices – a new work for ensemble by one of the world’s leading composers, Georg Friedrich Haas. The world premiere will be at Dark Music Days on 26th January, and we’ll follow up with the UK premiere at the Royal Academy of Music’s Susie Sainsbury Theatre on the 29th. As part of the build up Tim Rutherford-Johnson has been conducting several exclusive interviews with Haas about his music and inspirations.

Among the latter – if not for this piece, for his music in general – is the music of the past. For this second interview, Tim focused on this side of Haas’s music, and in particular Haas’s love of Schubert. (To read more about another of Haas’s inspirations, darkness, please see our first interview.)

Tim Rutherford-Johnson: Several of your works make explicit references to the music of earlier composers. Could you please explain the importance of musical history to you and why you have been drawn to represent it or address in your own music?

Georg Friedrich Haas: The music of earlier composers is an integral part of the present. Today many more people can hear Mozart or Beethoven or Johann Sebastian Bach than was possible in their lifetimes. We enjoy the surface of this music, which is beautiful and we take pleasure in it. But looking deeper, listening deeper makes it clear: these are incredible masterpieces. And they are full of deep human experiences, longings, abysses, hope and desperation. I feel the burden of this heritage when I compose my music.

TR-J: Works like these seem to have occurred more often relatively early in your career. Are the references no longer there, or have they become more hidden?

GFH: The last piece, which is composed in a direct relationship to old music is Tombeau from 2013. This is not too far. I plan to write a piece in relation to Ivan Wyschnegradsky to be performed on his quartertone piano. And I have a great project coming within the next few years, about which I cannot speak at the moment.

TR-J: Are there particular composers you are drawn to in this way? And what has attracted you to work with their music?

GFH: Several important composers who have inspired me include Mozart (3 pieces: ‘sodass ich’s hernach…’, 7 Klangräume with the unfinished drafts of the Requiem, Tombeau), Josquin Desprez (Tria ex uno), Schubert (Torso), Mendelssohn (Traum in des Sommers Nacht), Scriabin (opus 68), Ives (4 songs); Ligeti, Hauer, and Reich (3 hommages for one performer on two pianos tuned a quartertone apart.) They are very different; each of them attracts me in different ways. For example: I understand Mendelssohn as an avant-garde composer – his technique of orchestration is highly innovative, he is the first composer (I know of) to have composed ‘Klangfarbenmelodien’, that is melodies of sound colours.

TR-J: I believe Schubert is particularly significant to you. What do you find special about his music, and what do you think it has to say to listeners in the twenty-first century? Is it a fascination with his biography, or are there specific musical features that appeal to you as well?

GFH: Schubert was an adult during the decade after the Congress of Vienna. The ideals of the French revolution – ‘liberté, egalité, fraternité’ – were replaced by control and submission under a feudal dictatorship. Sadly enough, Austria was ‘great’ again. The lack of utopia, the lack of hope created a general feeling of sadness. In Schubert’s music beauty always changes to pain and vice versa. His answer to the political suppression was: ‘My emotions matter’. Maybe this is very relevant now, in the shadow of new fascism everywhere.

TR-J: In Torso you draw on Schubert’s C-major Piano Sonata (D840), a work that he left unfinished. It seems to me that your music often touches on moments of beginning or ending. This is certainly the case in Morgen und Abend, for example, and perhaps Solstices too. In Torso were you seeking to provide an ‘ending’ to the Schubert sonata, or to offer it a new life, a new ‘beginning’?

GFH: I did not want to provide an ‘ending’ to this sonata. I tried to describe why this sonata must remain unfinished. Schubert made a lot of ‘experiments’ in this work. In the first movement he explained how music would work when the dominant seventh chord is handled like a consonance. And he tried to write a mono-thematic sonata based on two intervals (E–G and G–A). He succeeded. In the third movement he ‘experimented’ with the form. The traditional menuet takes the form of: A-B-A’ (with repetitions)–trio (C-D)–A-B-A’ (without repetitions). In part A he replaced the repeat signs with a variation – transposed a semitone higher (!!!). When it was time to come back to A’, he did not know which of these two tonalities he should chose. And he had to stop.

For today’s listener, a repetition a semitone higher is a cheesy technique found in bad popular music. We cannot perceive Schubert’s problem, because for us it is no problem at all. I tried in Torso to make these gaps audible for a contemporary audience, by composing sounds. Torso is a ‘Klangkomposition’ based on Schubert’s score.

TR-J: You also make reference to Schubert in your song cycle ATTHIS, which you have described as a sort of Winterreise ‘with a happy ending’. Are there any other Schubert works that particularly inspire you to write a response of your own, perhaps one that you haven’t yet composed?

GFH: Oh yes: I would be happy if I could write music as brutally naked as Der Leiermann, music as inhumanly cruel as the beginning of the ‘Sanctus’ in the E-flat major mass, music as empty and vulnerable as the beginning of the second movement of the C-major string quintet, music as passionately sexual as ‘Gretchen am Spinnrad’ …

Even more moments with Georg Friedrich Haas

Excitement is building at Riot headquarters as in less than two weeks we will be giving the first performance of a major new work by Georg Friedrich Haas, one of the world’s leading composers. Titled Solstices the work will receive its world premiere appropriately at the Dark Music Days festival in Reykjavik on 26th January. But don’t worry if you can’t make it to Iceland: the UK premiere is just a few days later at the Royal Academy of Music’s Susie Sainsbury Theatre, on the 29th. Lasting 70 minutes and written for 10 musicians playing in complete darkness this is an event not to be missed.

As part of the build-up to this unique occasion, Tim Rutherford-Johnson has conducted several exclusive interviews with Haas about his music and inspirations. In this third and final conversation, Haas reveals some of the inspirations behind his new piece. If you would like to read more, the first and second interviews are here and here.

Tim Rutherford-Johnson: For our final set of questions I would like to turn to the piece you have written for us, Solstices.What significance do the solstices have for you?

Georg Friedrich Haas: It is a personal and beautiful coincidence. I met my beloved spouse Mollena [Haas-Williams; pictured above] on 21 December 2013. And we decided to perform a ceremony to sanctify our relationship on 21 June 2014. The rehearsals and first performances of Solstices are/were also close to the solstices.

TR-J: The winter and summer solstices are also important moments in many cultures around the world. Have you drawn on the resonances of these moments in your work at all?

GFH: No.

TR-J: Are you especially attuned to the passage of the seasons in your own life, the lengthening and shortening of days? Do you work differently in summer and winter, for example? Do you consider an awareness of such things to be important?

GFH: I am always sad when the days get shorter, and I am happy when they are longer. When I lived amongst nature (1991–2000, Fischbach, Austria) I was very conscious of this. The turning of the stars, the moon, the cycle of the seasons – this was a mystical experience. Now, living in New York, I still feel the changes: stars are not visible, but the different lights in the different seasons, the different colours of the sky, are inspiring and beautiful.

I assume my music is not influenced by seasonal changes. I am an addict: I need my drug (that is, composition) every day.

TR-J: Have you sought to translate any of these meanings into your piece? And if so, how?

GFH: Maybe you can feel my love for my spouse Mollena shimmering through the music.

TR-J: Solstices will be played in complete darkness. Reading the score, I am struck by the amount of approximation that is built in, relative to many other contemporary scores – with timings, rhythms, entries, and so on. This is obviously essential when playing from memory and in the dark. I’m interested in what compositional models have you drawn upon in writing this way; I detect hints of Lutosławski as well as James Tenney, but perhaps you have your own ideas.

GFH: Composing means: having an idea of music in one’s head, and trying to communicate with musicians to make these ideas reality. When I write for darkness I must find special techniques for this. Yes, Lutosławski and Tenney inspired me, but also Cage, Stockhausen, and Grisey.

TR-J: The harmonic language of the piece is obviously important, with lots of long overtone chords, for example (some last several minutes). Yet you have also composed a number of interventions or ‘elements’ that can appear freely amongst these. How did you go about balancing a precise harmonic language with these much freer components? Is there an element of conflict in the piece, or of union; or perhaps something else?

GFH: There are plenty of musical elements which I love. There are musicians who give these materials the time they need. And there are listeners who dare to share this journey. Enjoy!

TR-J: Finally, in our first interview you said that that darkness has no meaning, it is just a musical medium. Can you say a little more about the musical qualities that darkness brings to Solstices in particular?

GFH: I have never composed such a long time in darkness for so many instruments. I hope between ten instrumentalists and many listeners we will gain a spiritual experience – all focused on ourselves, isolated, yet strongly connected by the energy of the sounds.

Solstices – World Premiere – Iceland

Date: Sat 26th January
Venue: Dark Music Days, Harpa, Reykjavík

Solstices is a 70-minute piece from Georg Friedrich Haas, which takes place entirely in darkness. For 10 musicians, including a completely re-tuned grand piano, Solstices opens with a passage of taut, energetic, and precise music.  From here the piece turns to a process of deep-listening by the musicians who, led by a totally re-tuned grand piano, play and tune a series of overtone chords.  Soon Haas introduces a variety of musical ‘games’ and elements that play upon the surface of this slowly moving texture.  Building to an intense climax, the final chord is held by the musicians for more than four minutes.  Haas writes:

very gradually the light comes back
the brighter the light, the softer the music
decrescendo al niente

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Solstices – London

Date: Tues 29th January, 8pm
Venue: The Royal Academy of Music, Theatre

Solstices is a 70-minute from Georg Friedrich Haas, which takes place entirely in darkness. For 10 musicians, including a completely re-tuned grand piano, Solstices opens with a passage of taut, energetic and precise music.  From here the piece turns to a process of deep-listening by the musicians who, led by a totally re-tuned grand piano, play and tune a series of overtone chords.  Soon Haas introduces a variety of musical ‘games’ and elements that play upon the surface of this slowly moving texture.  Building to an intense climax, the final chord is held by the musicians for more than four minutes.  Haas writes:

very gradually the light comes back
the brighter the light, the softer the music
decrescendo al niente

Continue reading