NEW YORK — Courage and fortitude aren’t typical listening requirements spelled out in pre-performance talks, but at the Darkness Sounding festival March 21 and 22 at the 92NY, the Wild Up ensemble warranted a fair warning. East Coast modern-music groups hold no edge on Christopher Rountree’s musician collective, founded in 2010 in Los Angeles, and returning after its Julius Eastman festival here burned a hole in the brains of those who heard it two years ago.
Each piece in Darkness Sounding’s string-based works (one world premiere, several East Coast premieres, and two older experimental works) was truly its own world, ranging from the ear-bleeding assault of Tony Conrad’s well-amplified Four Violins to the radically demure with eyes the color of time by Leilehua Lanzilotti with an entire section devoted to soothing sounds reminiscent of a rain stick. For some, true repose was reserved for day three: That entire program was devoted to the rhapsodic, mesmerizing Mystery Sonatas of Heinrich Biber (1644-1704) with Wild Up violinist Andrew McIntosh (unfortunately missed by me, due to a schedule conflict).
Inquisitive ears were often on their own because the QR code that promised program notes was temporarily glitched. Rountree’s spoken encouragement from the stage went a long way, but listeners basically had to “go commando,” making what they could of some challenging music. My vivid but perhaps wayward impressions of the March 22 concert were colored by Rubato (It: Stolen Time) by Scott Walker, which began with a portrayal of war (according to Rountree) suggesting air-raids and sirens. Walker (1943-2019), a British pop singer turned experimental composer, concluded with the musicians singing a hymn of sorts.
Afterward, Rountree talked about the music defying description. Not for me. I heard the World War II bombing of Dresden, ending with the population singing in bomb shelters. Two pieces later, the 1980 Zipangu by Claude Vivier (1948-1983) felt like a prequel to Strauss’ lamentation of Germany’s wartime destruction in Metamorphosen. Vivier’s exclamatory, upward-thrusting, sky-scratching gestures gave the Wild Up players a workout, while many glissandos suggested the whistling of bombs headed earthward. Was this anything like what Vivier had in mind? Absolutely not. This was the composer’s iconoclastic reaction to Kabuki theater. While my ears were referencing pre-modernist eras, I heard Saxony by James Tenney (1934-2006) — dominated by imposing writing for lower strings — as an inspired update of Wagner’s Das Rheingold prelude, one rich in overtones that made the music more enveloping than Wagner and with much more underwater activity.
Speaking of overtones: That was the under-the-surface theme of the March 21 program. The aforementioned 1964 Four Violins by Conrad (1940-2016) hails from the composer’s association with Theatre of Eternal Music (alongside John Cale and La Monte Young) that “utilized just intonation and drones to produce what the group called ‘dream music’” (according to Wikipedia). The new arrangement by Wild Up’s McIntosh functioned to give the piece a more modern sound envelope (less buzz, more wail) with extra clarity for overtones, meticulously synced with the amplification over the 30-minute duration. During intermission, Rountree admitted the piece was as much about the science of sound as the expression of sound.
A different kind of listening was needed. Those used to musical events found only a single note. Any narrative lay in the shifting overtones, which were sometimes so prominent as to give the illusion of many more notes at work. The piece was mainly about the inner life of the note, somewhat like looking at a drop of water through a microscope and discovering a tiny world of activity within. But the piece grew aggressively interminable. I shamelessly held my ears. When a nearby listener pulled out ear plugs, his companion was disappointed to find they weren’t gummies.
The festival’s one world premiere — The Lower Melodies by Canadian composer Sarah Davachi — was a conceptually similar exploration of overtones, but at the opposite expressive extreme from the finger-in-a-light-socket jolt of Four Violins. The opening moments were like a variation on a quiet medieval hymn, though giving way to something more drone-like whose waves of overtones were an elevating spiritual experience. The piece’s expansive personality was welcome.
How McIntosh’s Fixations fit into the March 21 program is hard to say. Its nine movements did fixate on particular compositional techniques, such as counterpoint that seemingly dated back to Henry Purcell, especially as played in the manner of a viol consort with slow tempos, light bowings, no vibrato, and recognizable musical shapes. Microtones were also in the mix, creating a sense of weariness. My visual image was an Andrew Wyeth painting of a once-functional but now distressed structure in a barren field.
Did I get it wrong? Did I get any of these pieces right? When music has yet to establish a specific identity within the zeitgeist, any honest impression is right. At least in theory.
