Gandhi versus Lamb Chop:
Philip Glass and Shari Lewis
My Everything-but-Wife, Terri, and I drove to Danbury last night to see the encore broadcast in HD of the Met Opera's new production of Philip Glass' groundbreaking opera, Satyagraha.
Incidentally, in case you're not familiar with this development, the Metropolitan Opera has been broadcasting via satellite to movie theaters around the world live performances in high definition of some of their productions, and then rebroadcasting an encore performance a couple weeks later. We've been attending these Met Opera Live in HD performances for two years now and we find these broadcasts are absolutely stunning and wonderful experiences, like nothing available live in the opera house! The singers are big enough on the movie screen to see every nuance, the sound is marvelous, and there are interviews with musicians and staff backstage. I highly recommend these performances. And they're dirt cheap compared with attending Lincoln Center live!
I could easily have devoted this essay to praising one of the other operas that moved us deeply and filled us with appreciation and wonder for the astonishing work of the Met Opera. But here I am again, wearing my curmudgeon's costume, and singing with ire and bafflement at the spectacle of Philip Glass, this gloriously gifted composer who, in my humble opinion, appears to have sawed off his talent at the toes and put it to sleep in a Procrustean bed made up in the sheets of postmodern philosophy. Allow me to explain.
Now, Satyagraha presents not so much a story about Mohandas Gandhi, as perhaps something like a musical montage, a meditation on passages from the Bhagavad-Gita that Gandhi read daily for inspiration. These words, sung in Sanskrit, are the only source of lyrics in the libretto (and I'll bet that the big chorus of the Met Opera, having learned the libretto, doubled the Sanskrit-speaking population of the world!)
This work can hardly be described as a story, given the paucity of action and conversation, not that operas are best known for the brilliance of their books. Instead of a story, the characters sing with reverence and awe all these abstract phrases, pronouncements mostly on a theme of denying selfishness to uphold the common good.
The big exception to this reverential atmosphere is the opening of Act II, a long scene crafted to beat up on all the rich and greedy people, and do so with a spirit of mockery that would be worthy of an old tub-thumping Marxist. I've read that these beliefs are on the same side of the color spectrum as the politics of the composer. Very odd piece, this.
Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Knock, knock.
I say, who's there?
Knock, knock.
Well, who is it, for crying out loud?
Knock, knock.
Damn it all to hell, who is it?!?
Philip Glass.
Now, to my ear, the only thing groundbreaking about the musical minimalism of Glass is how such little musical material can be inflated to such proportions as to make a jelly bean look like a Macy's Day balloon.
I don't want to tar all minimalists with this same dismissive brush. We just watched another Met opera production by another composer who is widely associated with musical minimalism, John Adams' Nixon in China, and found it to be an engaging story set to music of far greater variety and imagination than that of Philip Glass, in my opinion.
I remember the first time I heard something by Glass, a piece called "Facades." I was freshly arrived at New College, at Sarasota, in the Fall of 1980. I was up studying after midnight, listening to the local PBS radio station. An arresting phrase of music filled the air. I froze, fascinated. Then the phrase was given out again. And again. And then again, and again and again. I thought, surely the equipment was stuck in an endless loop. But no....
Now Glass is a top drawer talent of superb training and accomplishment. He was in the last generation of students in the legendary Parisian atelier of the great Nadia Boulanger. So how could such a well-trained and marvelous talent drive into such a ditch?
Philosophy, of course. Philosophy, as always. Philosophy, the mother of everything, the bedrock (or quicksand) on which all knowledge must rise (or sink).
So it was no surprise for me to learn that Glass majored in philosophy at the University of Chicago. I will not now wander off into my baleful thoughts on the crazy, cockamamie intellectual viruses of postmodern philosophy, but suffice it to say here that I will put a tall stack of dollars on the proposition that it is this bizarre contemporary philosophy that steered Glass' very great talent into this postmodern musical sausage machine.
Glass has the ability to create eight measures of beautiful and arresting music and, by a process of extrusion, squeeze out 20 minutes of musical catatonia. At the end of this soporific exertion, there is no evidence of the man's wanting to go hide in shame.
I imagine that it is his crazy postmodern philosophy that has so stripped him of aesthetic conscience that his heartless musical cranking leaves him stripped of the ability to feel guilt or any desire to atone for these crimes against his own talent, this sad abuse of his shimmering gifts from the gods.
Instead of going into a thoughtful few pages on this baffling postmodern philosophy, let me offer instead a little meditation on Philip Glass and Shari Lewis, the creator of the hand puppet, Lamb Chop.
Consider Gandhi and Lamb Chop ....
The last act of Satyagraha ends with an empty stage, but for the character of Gandhi, who is singing a rising scale passage again and again and again, and then endlessly again and again. And then a few more times, for good measure upon measure upon measure. Oh, and did I mention that the phrase repeats itself?
The tune is in triple meter, say 3/4 time, in 8th notes (except the last note, which is a dotted half note), with an upbeat before measure one; it's a rising scale passage from mi to mi, if you know these solfege syllables:
mi fa sol la ti do re meeeee ...
(on the white notes of the piano, this passage rises from an E to the E an octave above, which is the C major scale, beginning and ending on the third degree of the scale. The upbeat is on mi, or E, the first beat on fa, or F.)
As I did my stretches and calisthenics this morning, this passage from the end of Satyagraha wrapped itself around my mind and refused to let go. Words kept setting themselves to this musical passage that recalled Shari Lewis and her hand puppet, Lamb Chop. Do you remember this Shari Lewis song? --
This is the song that does not end,
It just goes on and on, my friend.
Some people (clap!) started singing it,
Not knowing what it was,
And they'll continue singing it forever just because
This is the song that does not end....
sol la ti do ti la do ti ... (G A B C B A C B, on the white notes of the piano, using the moveable doh system of solfege.)
This song, made famous by Shari Lewis, starts on the 5th degree of the scale, and the first line ends, hanging expectantly on the leading tone.
Back to Philip Glass' concluding passage (although it may be a misleading overstatement to call this phrase "concluding.")
These are my words to fit this phrase from the end of Satyagraha:
(Remember, it goes, "mi fa sol la ti do re mi," with mi an upbeat to fa, the downbeat.)
Miss Shari Lewis would be proud!
Because this song will never end!
But surely Death will intervene?
And take this song away from me?
Before I die and lose my chance,
I need a chord from Five to One.
But what's it mean, this Five to One?
The odds against a closing theme?
God help me find a way to stop,
Before the Union locks the door
And leaves me here to starve to death!
Abandon Hope, who hopes to find
In Philip Glass, a work succinct!
Instead, we have much brilliant work,
Created by this best-trained man,
Where tunes that ought to last a breath,
If written by a Brahms or Bach,
When written by this Philip Glass
Go on at soporific length!
A little tune that ought to have
Proportions of a toy balloon,
Are Zeppelins, the Hindenburg!
So what explains this so sad turn
Of brightly burnished talent spoiled?
Postmodern academic thought!
Philosophy should help us find
Life-serving purpose, sight, and joy!
Philosophy should clear the mind
Of Bullshit no one can believe,
Just like the cant that poisoned Glass,
Extruded, endless sausage link,
But tangled as a tumbleweed:
Postmodern surf that drowns the mind.
(Sorry ... if you don't know any music theory, I should briefly explain that "Five to One" means a harmonic progression, the movement of chords built on the 5th and 1st degrees of a musical scale. In C major these chords would be built on G and C. The chords are triads here, namely three notes sounded simultaneously at the interval of a third, like the distance from C to E, with each chord rising up from G and C. Roman numerals denote the scale degree on which these triads are built. So the notes of the V chord would be G-B-D, and the I chord is C-E-G. The I chord is the home key, called the Tonic; the V chord is called the Dominant. The significance of this progression from dominant to tonic, from V to I, is a transition from tension to relaxation, of musical struggle to the serenity of arriving home, which is precisely what this passage at the end of Glass' opera singularly lacks.)
Or how about that Neil Diamond song ...
"Song sung blue, searching for a cadence ...."
No, no, no, I'm not going there.
All right, enough for now.
* * *
revised 2013.1118,
and 2015.0828
Who's there?
Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Knock, knock.
I say, who's there?
Knock, knock.
Well, who is it, for crying out loud?
Knock, knock.
Damn it all to hell, who is it?!?
Philip Glass.
Now, to my ear, the only thing groundbreaking about the musical minimalism of Glass is how such little musical material can be inflated to such proportions as to make a jelly bean look like a Macy's Day balloon.
I don't want to tar all minimalists with this same dismissive brush. We just watched another Met opera production by another composer who is widely associated with musical minimalism, John Adams' Nixon in China, and found it to be an engaging story set to music of far greater variety and imagination than that of Philip Glass, in my opinion.
I remember the first time I heard something by Glass, a piece called "Facades." I was freshly arrived at New College, at Sarasota, in the Fall of 1980. I was up studying after midnight, listening to the local PBS radio station. An arresting phrase of music filled the air. I froze, fascinated. Then the phrase was given out again. And again. And then again, and again and again. I thought, surely the equipment was stuck in an endless loop. But no....
Now Glass is a top drawer talent of superb training and accomplishment. He was in the last generation of students in the legendary Parisian atelier of the great Nadia Boulanger. So how could such a well-trained and marvelous talent drive into such a ditch?
Philosophy, of course. Philosophy, as always. Philosophy, the mother of everything, the bedrock (or quicksand) on which all knowledge must rise (or sink).
So it was no surprise for me to learn that Glass majored in philosophy at the University of Chicago. I will not now wander off into my baleful thoughts on the crazy, cockamamie intellectual viruses of postmodern philosophy, but suffice it to say here that I will put a tall stack of dollars on the proposition that it is this bizarre contemporary philosophy that steered Glass' very great talent into this postmodern musical sausage machine.
Glass has the ability to create eight measures of beautiful and arresting music and, by a process of extrusion, squeeze out 20 minutes of musical catatonia. At the end of this soporific exertion, there is no evidence of the man's wanting to go hide in shame.
I imagine that it is his crazy postmodern philosophy that has so stripped him of aesthetic conscience that his heartless musical cranking leaves him stripped of the ability to feel guilt or any desire to atone for these crimes against his own talent, this sad abuse of his shimmering gifts from the gods.
Instead of going into a thoughtful few pages on this baffling postmodern philosophy, let me offer instead a little meditation on Philip Glass and Shari Lewis, the creator of the hand puppet, Lamb Chop.
Consider Gandhi and Lamb Chop ....
The last act of Satyagraha ends with an empty stage, but for the character of Gandhi, who is singing a rising scale passage again and again and again, and then endlessly again and again. And then a few more times, for good measure upon measure upon measure. Oh, and did I mention that the phrase repeats itself?
The tune is in triple meter, say 3/4 time, in 8th notes (except the last note, which is a dotted half note), with an upbeat before measure one; it's a rising scale passage from mi to mi, if you know these solfege syllables:
mi fa sol la ti do re meeeee ...
(on the white notes of the piano, this passage rises from an E to the E an octave above, which is the C major scale, beginning and ending on the third degree of the scale. The upbeat is on mi, or E, the first beat on fa, or F.)
As I did my stretches and calisthenics this morning, this passage from the end of Satyagraha wrapped itself around my mind and refused to let go. Words kept setting themselves to this musical passage that recalled Shari Lewis and her hand puppet, Lamb Chop. Do you remember this Shari Lewis song? --
This is the song that does not end,
It just goes on and on, my friend.
Some people (clap!) started singing it,
Not knowing what it was,
And they'll continue singing it forever just because
This is the song that does not end....
sol la ti do ti la do ti ... (G A B C B A C B, on the white notes of the piano, using the moveable doh system of solfege.)
This song, made famous by Shari Lewis, starts on the 5th degree of the scale, and the first line ends, hanging expectantly on the leading tone.
Back to Philip Glass' concluding passage (although it may be a misleading overstatement to call this phrase "concluding.")
These are my words to fit this phrase from the end of Satyagraha:
(Remember, it goes, "mi fa sol la ti do re mi," with mi an upbeat to fa, the downbeat.)
Miss Shari Lewis would be proud!
Because this song will never end!
But surely Death will intervene?
And take this song away from me?
Before I die and lose my chance,
I need a chord from Five to One.
But what's it mean, this Five to One?
The odds against a closing theme?
God help me find a way to stop,
Before the Union locks the door
And leaves me here to starve to death!
Abandon Hope, who hopes to find
In Philip Glass, a work succinct!
Instead, we have much brilliant work,
Created by this best-trained man,
Where tunes that ought to last a breath,
If written by a Brahms or Bach,
When written by this Philip Glass
Go on at soporific length!
A little tune that ought to have
Proportions of a toy balloon,
Are Zeppelins, the Hindenburg!
So what explains this so sad turn
Of brightly burnished talent spoiled?
Postmodern academic thought!
Philosophy should help us find
Life-serving purpose, sight, and joy!
Philosophy should clear the mind
Of Bullshit no one can believe,
Just like the cant that poisoned Glass,
Extruded, endless sausage link,
But tangled as a tumbleweed:
Postmodern surf that drowns the mind.
(Sorry ... if you don't know any music theory, I should briefly explain that "Five to One" means a harmonic progression, the movement of chords built on the 5th and 1st degrees of a musical scale. In C major these chords would be built on G and C. The chords are triads here, namely three notes sounded simultaneously at the interval of a third, like the distance from C to E, with each chord rising up from G and C. Roman numerals denote the scale degree on which these triads are built. So the notes of the V chord would be G-B-D, and the I chord is C-E-G. The I chord is the home key, called the Tonic; the V chord is called the Dominant. The significance of this progression from dominant to tonic, from V to I, is a transition from tension to relaxation, of musical struggle to the serenity of arriving home, which is precisely what this passage at the end of Glass' opera singularly lacks.)
Or how about that Neil Diamond song ...
"Song sung blue, searching for a cadence ...."
No, no, no, I'm not going there.
All right, enough for now.
* * *
revised 2013.1118,
and 2015.0828
No comments:
Post a Comment