Henning's Headquarters

[karlhenning]

Composer at rest.

[karlhenning]

Wound up burning discs to send to a chap in upstate New York who proposes to do a radio show featuring my music. (I mean, he does a weekly hourlong show, and smoe fine Saturday a few weeks hence, my music will be the topic.) Scrambled to get that done last night, as tonight and tomorrow night are museum shifts.

Still don't know when the show may go on. In fairness, though, the chap has been waiting for me to furnish him more text.  And (apart from program notes to this past June's concerts, which I sent him right away) I only set to serious verbiage — serious by volume, rather than by content — yesterday.

I don't want to pre-empt his show by publication elsewhere on the 'net.  Most of it is already known to folks here, and I think we can "mute" the publication aspect of it by invoking the quote function . . . .

When my family and I moved to Massachusetts, we knew hardly anyone in Boston.  It happened that many of the musicians whose acquaintance I first made, were organists and choir directors.  They were generally interested (at least politely) on learning that I am a composer, and more than one made me welcome to float by them any music which I thought might be suitable for use at their parish.  Often, the choir of such a church might be of fairly modest musicianship.

The Alleluia in A-flat (Disc 1, track 10), while not posing great demands, I did write as a piece not for any choir I then knew, but as a 'stretch', a piece for some choir, somewhere, capable of music of more technical difficulty than some of the occasional pieces I had written before.  It was the first piece of mine to be published (by Lux Nova Press, in Atlanta), and in quite a short period of time, came to be sung by choirs on three continents (North America, Europe & Australia).

It was one of the first pieces of mine which Mark Engelhardt, then music director at the Episcopal cathedral in Boston, had his choir sing.

In early 2003, Mark approached me with the idea of an Evensong which the cathedral choir would sing, featuring my music.  The canticle, the Song of Mary (Disc 1, track pre-dated this proposal (I had composed the piece at St Vincent's Arch-Abbey in Latrobe, PA) but its use in the Evensong was the first thing Mark & I settled.  It also provided the musical material for the companion Song of Simeon (Disc 1, track 9).

Now, I am a performer myself, a clarinetist and often a chorister.  In my composition time and again, I seem to show a knack for making technical demands of the performers which call forth their full attention (and which require ample rehearsal), but the character of the music itself wins them over (we might say), so that they are very gracious even while they find that they have to rehearse  a piece a great deal.  One such piece in particular, is Nuhro (Disc 1, track 7), an original setting of an ancient Maronite hymn which I first heard in a monastery near the Quabbin reservoir in central Massachusetts.  I decided to set this hymn to serve as part of the November 2003 Evensong.  Mark's choir at the cathedral, all paid singers at that time, were all highly capable; yet it was a small-ish choir, three or four singers to a part.  I had been working with them some little time by then, so I knew their capabilities.  I composed Nuhro for seven-part choir, which probably pressed Mark's choir to their utmost, in terms of their handling long-breathed parts with divided sections.  Even as I was writing it, I felt that it was the finest music I had composed to that point.  I must have completed the score in July, and when I had reached the final double-bar, my family & I went to the beach.  All the time when I was playing in the surf at Rockport, the strains of my new piece were echoing in my inner ear, and I was filled with this wonderful feeling that I had accomplished something in which I could always take great artistic pride.

In fact, Mark's choir did such a beautiful job with the November 2003 Evensong, that I quickly wrote a piece in gratitude, a setting of the Christmas text Hodie Christus natus est (Disc 1, track 11) for choir in five parts and clarinet.  Mark and the choir did indeed first sing it the following month, on Christmas Eve (although the recording we have is of a later performance).

The season at the cathedral following Mark's departure in August 2005, I found that members of the choir had pressed the Dean of the cathedral to engage me as an Interim Choir Director.  One of the things I wished (and which it actually proved practical) to do was, to keep the choir's morale up by maintaining the tradition of singing a special Evensong;  and as a composer, I was eager to write new  music for the whole service.  We scheduled the service to take place in Lent (March 2006), and so the idea of the new setting was that the organ would remain silent, and the instrumental compliment I selected was a pair of trombones, with a suitably austere sound to reflect the season of penitence (Disc 1, tracks 1-5).

That Easter I directed the choir in a purely unaccompanied adaptation of my setting of Pascha nostrum (Disc 1, track 6), which originally I had composed  for organist Bill Goodwin in Woburn, Massachusetts, for choir accompanied by brass quintet and organ.

All this may give the false impression that I am primarily (or even, heaven forfend, solely) a composer of sacred choral music.  Although I am certainly pleased, musically, at the artistic contribution I have made to that sector of the musical world, I think of myself much more broadly as a composer.

I am often asked if I have written a symphony.  The short answer is, no, but I am keen to.  In fact, I should like to write about 12 symphonies.  In general, though, I have an abhorrence of writing "for the shelf";  and no orchestra has yet made itself available for such a collaboration.  How should they, when no one has heard of me?  Composers who already have established names (you don't even need me to name them, you know them) are those whose symphonies are played by the orchestras.

Another reason why I tend not to write "for the shelf," is – well it's two related reasons, really.  I like to have music which I have written performed, so most of the music I write is for musicians I know, and for an occasion where there is a fair prospect of actual performance.  Where that is of particular importance is, in trying to overcome my anonymity as bemoaned above.  I have worked hard to write music, which could then be performed, so that (hopefully) there should be a fair document of the piece, which people can hear.  So that (hopefully) more people out there know that there's a chap named Karl Henning who writes music, and quite fine music it is, too.

In this I see at least a chance of eventually becoming known. The idea of writing my twelve symphonies as a complete unknown, to be discovered only after my death, is a prospect I do not find at all attractive.

Not surprisingly, then – as I am a clarinetist – I have written quite a bit of music including the clarinet, including one piece for clarinet quartet: Square Dance (Disc 4, track 5).

I've also made a special exploration of music for unaccompanied clarinet.  This is a genre which Nancy Garlick, my wonderful clarinet teacher at both the College of Wooster and the University of Virginia, taught me to know and love.  At Wooster, she had me prepare for various recitals a clarinet transcription of one of the Bach Suites for solo cello, Igor Stravinsky's Three Pieces for clarinet solo, and a hauntingly beautiful Sonatina for unaccompanied clarinet by Miklós Rózsa.  I began with a very short (three-minute) piece which I had largely composed when I was in St Petersburg, Russia: Blue Shamrock of 2002.  I became progressively entranced by the idea of scale for unaccompanied wind instrument, ultimately resulting in 2005's Studies in Impermanence, which runs some 20 minutes, and becomes something of a marathon.  In our selection here, we have the "mid-range" Irreplaceable Doodles (Disc 4, track 4).

My penchant for writing technically challenging music has meant that more than one piece has depended absolutely on the good graces of a fellow musician.  Violist Peter Lekx responded very favorably to The Mousetrap (Disc 3, track 1) . . . whose origin was something of a compositional dare to myself.  Having already written the 20-minute Studies in Impermanence for clarinet solo (and, honestly, feeling that I had filled the 20-minute time-span creditably) I thought, "If I have carved out a reasonable 20-minute space for clarinet alone, it must only be easier to compose a piece of that scale for two instruments."  The Mousetrap includes some enigmatic – you know it's a sign when the composer himself is no more definite than the adjective enigmatic – citations of music in the repertory.  Which ties in with the title, itself an allusion to the play-within-the-play of Hamlet.  A friend of mine in Germany has an idea of staging a ballet of The Mousetrap, and I should ask him where that stands these days.

Another great sport among the very fine musicians I am privileged to know is Paul Cienniwa, with whom I've played Lunar Glare (Disc 2, track 4).  My favorite story about Lunar Glare actually ties in with de Falla.  There are many irregular groups of notes in my piece (quintuplets, especially), and Paul worked hard to master them.  As a professional harpsichordist, of course Paul has known de Falla's famous Concerto for the instrument; but he had never played it, as he felt rather intimidated by some of the modernity of the idiom.  As a result of working on my Lunar Glare, I was very gratified to hear Paul tell me, the de Falla concerto held no more terror for him.  He played the de Falla in a concert up in Maine this past summer.

A colleague whose generosity to my work stands out even above the generous souls already mentioned, is Boston flutist Peter H. Bloom.  I had met Peter some years ago, and he gave me his card . . . he mentioned that he had a bass flute, and particularly made me welcome to send him a piece for bass flute and harp.  Now, it was a little while before I got around to that piece.  I think the first music of mine I showed him was actually a piece I originally wrote for trumpet.  I had finished composition of The Angel Who Bears a Flaming Sword, and was laying it out, when the happy thought occurred to me that it would transpose nicely for flute.  As soon as I finished laying out the original trumpet score, then, I hustled to lay out a parallel flute version, which I e-mailed to Peter with polite inquiries for his thoughts.  To my great gratification, not only did Peter like the piece, but he proposed a further transposition, because he felt that the piece would work particularly well for alto flute (Disc 3, track 7).

That transposition done, I felt it was time I wrote for Peter and his friend Mary Jane Rupert the long-promised piece for bass flute and harp, stars & guitars (Disc 3, track 6).  I started the piece with a very different working title, which I do not now remember, no doubt because even at the time I was not mad about it.  But I went to a lunchtime recital at King's Chapel in Boston one Tuesday, and the performer was a guitarist – and bingo, I knew what the bass-flute-&-harp piece needed to be called.

Harpist Mary Jane Rupert also gave the long-awaited première of music I had written back in St Petersburg, Lost Waters (Disc 3, tracks 2-5), a suite of four short pieces each inspired by a favorite American author whose work I was considering (and reading) with especial pleasure while I was in Russia and Estonia.

The three flute-&-clarinet duets of my Opus 97 were sort of a game of tag started by my collaboration with Peter.  I wrote Heedless Watermelon (Disc 2, track 1) for the two of us to play together and at the time I was writing it just as a stand-alone piece.  When we got together to read it, we both enjoyed the piece so well, I promptly decided to make it the first of a set of three pieces.  As it turned out, though, when I wrote All the Birds in Mondrian's Cage (Disc 2, track 2), the first performance was with Nicole Chamberlain when I went to play a concert in Atlanta.  That concert in turn gave me the musical germ for Swivels & Bops (Disc 2, track 3), which I first played together with Peter; though just a month or so later, Nicole came up to Boston for a pair of concerts– and so I played the complete set of three pieces with both flutists within a few months.

I Sang to the Sky, and Day Broke (Disc 1, track 12) I wrote for the orchestra at Clemson University.  The music director, Andrew Levin, had particularly strong wind players, and he wanted a piece to show them off, if possible a new piece written for the occasion.  At the time, Andrew knew me only as another participant in an Internet music forum, so it was quite brave of him to permit me to write the piece for his group.

That piece also hinges on a fun story.  I had known New England Conservatory Wind Ensemble director Charles Peltz some years before, when we were both in Buffalo (where I did my doctoral work).  When I learnt that Charles was at NEC, I called, and we got together to talk, and I brought the score for I Sang to the Sky, and Day Broke.  The Boston Chamber of the American Composer's Forum (I think it's now the New England Chapter) together with the NEC Wind Ensemble had an annual call for scores for a reading. They would select the best pieces from among those submitted, and the composers would come to Jordan Hall, and the ensemble (who had all been given parts to look at ahead of time) would read through the pieces.  Charles suggested to me that I submit the piece for that reading.  Which I did, and the piece was selected, and the reading was very nice.

Now, although Charles was not the only judge of the scores submitted for the call, and even though the other judge agreed that my piece was worth selecting for the event, in the interests of preserving impartiality, starting the following year, the call for scores stipulated that the submissions be anonymous.  Obviously, the desire was to avoid any possible suggestion that Charles had only selected my score, because we already knew one another.  (I mean, of course, that this change was of value as a general principle;  there was nothing personal at all in the new policy.)  During the next four years, I submitted three pieces anonymously, and pieces of entirely different character;  so that in a five-year period, music of mine was selected four times – three of them anonymously, which I found sufficient vindication of that initial submission which bore my name.

The last time I submitted a score to this call, I had the trunk of a piece I had begun a few years earlier, five minutes of the start of a piece for six saxophones and four low brass.  It was a chunk of music I liked a great deal, and which I had not meant to leave unfinished so long.  But one of the reasons I don't like writing music "for the shelf" is, I don't have a performance to motivate me to finish it, and then, if there is demand for another piece which will be performed – I find that instantly more attractive.  That was why Out in the Sun lay unfinished so long: there were other pieces which wanted writing.

And so, when in 2005 (probably) I saw the latest annual call for scores co-sponsored by the American Composers Forum and NEC, I felt that perhaps this was the occasion to dust off Out in the Sun.  I was not yet setting myself to finish it;  I thought I would just submit that (self-contained) opening of the piece, which was in essence already composed.  All that needed doing at the time was, I had to change the scoring to suit the call: six saxophones were too many.  I reacquainted myself with this old sketch, and found that I could recast some of the writing, so that I could substitute clarinets for two of the saxophones, which would bring my score into compliance with the specs of the call.

So: yet again (I am pleased to say) my piece was among those selected;  and this time the piece made such an impression on Charles, that he spoke to me about a performance.  The piece was unfinished as it was, but I could readily complete it.  That trunk of the piece was about five minutes long, and I was planning on about a 15-minute piece (Disc 1, track 13).

A great friend of mine in San Diego (who may wish to remain anonymous for this program) has commissioned a few pieces from me over the years.  One was a set of three duets for clarinet and horn for the children of friends of his family, who in school were studying those two instruments.  The idea really was that they should be able to play the duets together, but I am afraid that I composed the pieces too difficult:  the Three Things that Begin with 'C' (Disc 4, track 2).  Another piece he commissioned was for a more somber occasion, the De profundis for choir and organ (Disc 4, track 3).

The piano solo pieces Lutosławski's Lullaby (Disc 2, track 5) and Gaze Transfixt (Disc 2, track 6) I wrote when I was in St Petersburg, and really ought to have been working on my doctoral dissertation for the University at Buffalo.

I wrote Castelo dos anjos (Disc 4, track 1) for the wonderful virtuoso singers of Tapestry, as a result of being introduced to them (this will sound crazy, since they are here in the Boston area) by an expatriate English composer in Portugal, Ivan Moody.  If it were not for the Internet, perhaps the ladies of Tapestry and I would still be strangers.

While I was earning my Master's in composition at the University of Virginia, Scott DeVeaux asked me to take part in an African Drumming seminar.  Scott had studied for two years in Ghana.  Knowing me for an instrumentalist with a strong sense of rhythm, Scott had me play one of the drums in the ensemble of his seminar.  The lessons in rhythm which I soaked in on those occasions, have stayed with me, and I have put them to a great variety of uses in many different pieces.  Those lessons are quite close to the surface in a piece for percussion ensemble, such as Murmur of Many Waters (Disc 4, track 6).

[Luke]

Thanks Karl! Lots to digest there, and nice to have it all in one place. Makes intruiging reading.

[greg]

That's really cool. Is it going to be an interview mixed with some pieces, maybe? (Or has he said anything about that)?

[karlhenning]

I think the show will be mostly music, but it's hard for me to say.  Our communication about the pending show has been quite sporadic.

[Cato]

For devotees of Karl Henning's music, especially of the recent Viola Sonata Opus 102 I offer the rather superficial analytical review of the First Movement Fair Warning: if you have not yet downloaded the score and performance, you should take care of that problem!   0:)

http://www.good-music-guide.com/community/index.php/topic,92.1940.html


In the first movement, you hear the shadow of Alban Berg in the Viola: a mysterious yearning arises from a kind of struggling non-tonal tonality.  Note that even in the first bar, in the 5:4 figure of 16ths, one hears a kind of tonality in the broken D# (= Eb) Bb (= A#) Eb (= D#) chord, and then again in bar 2, note the broken up D major scale in the 5:4 figure, nearly emphasized by the accent mark on the D after the 16th rest.  Bar 3 has the little march figure which again has an aroma of traditional tonality (F minor, starting with the C-F figure at the end of bar 2), and tells us that maybe the Viola has been wanting to be in F minor from the start, but cannot decide.  The seeming chaos in the piano, with its B/A# and D/C# in the bass, and similarly wide-spaced dissonances in the treble, would apparently not be involved, but listen carefully to the odd E major in the piano in bars 3 and 4, which the Viola picks up in its partially contrary figure at the beginning of bar 4.

The chord at the end of bar 4, with its open fifths in the piano and the Viola's minor second G#/A stubbornly refusing to accept the engagement ring from either suitor, will become very important motivically, as it is paralleled in bars 28-31, and in bars 203-205, repeated nearly verbatim in bar 41, and paralleled again in the conclusion. The minor second in the Viola can of course be heard as a variation on the major 7ths in the piano's bass at the beginning.  This idea is reinforced in bar 7 in the piano, where the bass ascends from Bb to Bb to G#, while the treble and the Viola hold an A.

Lest ye think that the little minor second is just a moment's hesitation, let me send you to bar 14, where for a moment both instruments play G#, but then the piano plays F#2/G# on the last beat, and to the Meno mosso section at bar 45, where things are seemingly in accord, with a unison on B in both instruments, but immediately we get a disagreement (Bb in the piano/A# in the Viola), followed by a C/Db and then in bar 46 we hear that G#/A, resolved into a unison to be sure, but then note the minor seconds in bars 49 and 50 (nicely played in the performance).  This is one of the more comically poignant, or poignantly comic parts of the work.

The Piu mosso section at bar 59 shows a variation on the 5:4 motif from the opening melody.  The motif is now legalized with a time signature of its own (5/16), but does return in the piano for a moment in bar 64.  Of interest rhythmically and motivically are bars 66-72: the music struggles upward through major and minor seconds for a while.  In bar 69 the 5:4 figure in the piano sets the stage for an erratic ascent from B to C, with a minor ninth crescendo in bar 72.

The delicious Slow (but with life) part (bars 83-108) shows variations on the previous motifs (bar 86 develops the 5:4 figure, and the double open fifths in bar 87),  and I like how the wide leaps in the piano presage the sudden drop in the Viola in bars 97-98.  Octaves abound, but not for long, as the music fragments to a kind of pointillism in bars 109-132.  The open-fifths-vs.-minor-second debate is heard in the piano in bar 122, just to make sure you are paying attention, and that 5:4 figure now appears as a 5:6 in the base.

And then my favorite part: the completely schizoid Piu mosso ancora! (Bars 133-176) The section continues to play with items already established, e.g. hear the bass part of the piano continue the minor/major 2nd/7th/9th patterns, while the treble plays around with the motifs introduced back in bar 95ff. and 106-107.  Listen to how they contrast with the melodic line in the Viola, with trills (136-137), emphatically accented 16ths, the 5:4 and new 6:4 figures, while the piano obediently avoids such rhythmically complexities, allowing only some syncopations.  And I must remark upon how well the premiere performance handled this section!

In bars 177 the music develops the earlier Piu mosso (bars 59-82) and drives toward a climax where a variation of the opening is proclaimed beginning at bar 201.  During this drive, note again the presence of those minor/major 2nd/7th/9th patterns: bars 189 and 194-195 are especially impressive here, the latter two bars show a minor second expanding to a third and then a fourth, leading to the open fifths in the treble in the next two bars.

As mentioned earlier, those Beethovenian chords from bar 4 return in bars 203-205.  We then hear a brilliant, condensed, and varied recapitulation of the most important parts of the entire movement (e.g. listen to the piano in bars 212-214 and in the bass only to 218 and compare it to bars 95-102), while above one hears a near apotheosis of the 5:4 figure interspersed with continual variations on it: check out e.g. bar 219 where the Viola plays an eighth-note triplet with a duplet, as well as the bass part in the piano in bars 220-221.  Bar 221 is particularly fascinating with the way motivic and rhythmic elements coalesce in the piano, before our Beethovenian chords put an end to this serious yet playful and highly expressive movement! 

[karlhenning]

Great news on the radio show!

Will it be possible to listen to it via the Internet?  Most radio stations are broadcasting or "webcasting" these days.

Yes, we can listen live while the show broadcasts; I don't believe there are "podcasts" for later listening.

More info as I gets it!

Late-breaking news!—

I'm in the throes of putting together a tribute to CMG's own KARL HENNING, clarinetist and composer. If all goes as anticipated, it will be broadcast worldwide on Saturday, December 4, 2010 at 7:00 ET.

The station (WPEL-FM) streams live here (your computer needs Java to run the stream).

If I receive any further alerts, I'll post word here.

[greg]

Is it possible for someone to record it in case I have to work at that time?

[karlhenning]

I intend trying.

[karlhenning]

And furthermore:

On Saturday, December 4, 2010, at 7:00 p.m. Eastern Time, I will present a tribute to Boston composer and clarinetist KARL HENNING. Born on October 6, 1960, Karl has an impressive background with his education having a double major in composition and clarinet performance for his bachelor's degree from the College of Wooster in Ohio, his master's degree in composition from the University of Virginia-Charlottesville, and his doctorate in composition from the University of Buffalo. His teachers included Charles Wuorninen and Louis Andriessen. Karl has also served as a choral director in the Boston area. Among his premiers is his 40-minute unaccompanied choral setting of the Saint John Passion, first performed in Boston. Karl has over 100 compositions with opus numbers at this time. He also spent time in Russia. It would be safe to say that he no doubt acquired much inspiration for his choral works after hearing the famous Russian choirs. Karl Henning is also a noted clarinetist and has performed in many venues playing his music and that of others. His own works are diversified and are given unique titles. Karl is a long-time member of CMG and contributes many erudite articles to our site.

The music of Karl Henning will include the following repertoire:

♫ Lost Waters, Op. 27, Nos. 1-4 (complete) with Mary Jane Rupert, harpist ["Irving's Hudson," "Thoreau's Walden," "Whitman's Ontario," and "Carlos Williams' Passaic"
♫ Three Things that Begin with 'C' [Cats, Clouds, and Canaries], Op. 65a with Karl Henning, clarinet, and Peter Lekx, viola
♫ Murmur of Many Waters, Op. 57 with Gordon Stout leading the Ithaca College Percussion Ensemble
♫ Castelo dos anjos (Castle Angels), Op. 90 with Boston vocal ensemble Tapestry
♫ Pascha nostrum, Op. 52a, Choir of the Cathedral Church of St. Paul, Boston, Mass., Karl Henning, director
♫ Song of Mary, Op. 39b, Choir of the Cathedral Church of St. Paul, Boston, Mass., Mark Englehardt, director

I offer information about Karl Henning at the outset of the broadcast.

Click on this link to take you directly the the broadcast:

http://wpel.streamon.fm/player/streamplayer.php?username=WPEL&stream=32k&type=1

The program can be heard anywhere in the world if your computer is equipped with speakers and you adjust your time schedule to equate to 7:00 p.m. Eastern time. My usual descriptive dialogue about the artist or subject matter precedes the musical content.

I hope you will enjoy the program on Saturday, December 4, 2010, which is now heard across our great planet. I look forward to your comments, especially from those who hear the broadcast via the Internet. I am very pleased to know the program is being heard around the world including the entire United States. ♪

[karlhenning]

Not just for the obvious reason (pleasure in the fact that fellow musicians and music-lovers respond so favorably to the music) I greatly enjoy Cato's essay.

I've started to read Alexander Waugh's (yes, Evelyn's grandson) Classical Music: A New Way of Listening, and the lion's share of the chapter I read this morning was good discussion on meaning in music . . . which we could summarize by a caption to one of the chapter's illustrations, to the effect that Beethoven wasn't thinking of moonlight when he wrote his piece, but there's nought wrong with 'hearing' moonlight in it.

So at first, it surprised me when Cato wrote that he hears Berg in the opening. But once I set that surprise to one side, I saw where he hears that . . . in short, one of the aspects of the essay which I enjoy (and find instructive) is getting a sense of what an entirely different pair of ears (and eyes) finds in this piece of my own.

For devotees of Karl Henning's music, especially of the recent Viola Sonata Opus 102 I offer the rather superficial analytical review of the First Movement Fair Warning: if you have not yet downloaded the score and performance, you should take care of that problem!   0:)

http://www.good-music-guide.com/community/index.php/topic,92.1940.html

In the first movement, you hear the shadow of Alban Berg in the Viola: a mysterious yearning arises from a kind of struggling non-tonal tonality.  Note that even in the first bar, in the 5:4 figure of 16ths, one hears a kind of tonality in the broken D# (= Eb) Bb (= A#) Eb (= D#) chord, and then again in bar 2, note the broken up D major scale in the 5:4 figure, nearly emphasized by the accent mark on the D after the 16th rest.  Bar 3 has the little march figure which again has an aroma of traditional tonality (F minor, starting with the C-F figure at the end of bar 2), and tells us that maybe the Viola has been wanting to be in F minor from the start, but cannot decide.  The seeming chaos in the piano, with its B/A# and D/C# in the bass, and similarly wide-spaced dissonances in the treble, would apparently not be involved, but listen carefully to the odd E major in the piano in bars 3 and 4, which the Viola picks up in its partially contrary figure at the beginning of bar 4.

The chord at the end of bar 4, with its open fifths in the piano and the Viola's minor second G#/A stubbornly refusing to accept the engagement ring from either suitor, will become very important motivically, as it is paralleled in bars 28-31, and in bars 203-205, repeated nearly verbatim in bar 41, and paralleled again in the conclusion. The minor second in the Viola can of course be heard as a variation on the major 7ths in the piano's bass at the beginning.  This idea is reinforced in bar 7 in the piano, where the bass ascends from Bb to Bb to G#, while the treble and the Viola hold an A.

Lest ye think that the little minor second is just a moment's hesitation, let me send you to bar 14, where for a moment both instruments play G#, but then the piano plays F#2/G# on the last beat, and to the Meno mosso section at bar 45, where things are seemingly in accord, with a unison on B in both instruments, but immediately we get a disagreement (Bb in the piano/A# in the Viola), followed by a C/Db and then in bar 46 we hear that G#/A, resolved into a unison to be sure, but then note the minor seconds in bars 49 and 50 (nicely played in the performance).  This is one of the more comically poignant, or poignantly comic parts of the work.

The Piu mosso section at bar 59 shows a variation on the 5:4 motif from the opening melody.  The motif is now legalized with a time signature of its own (5/16), but does return in the piano for a moment in bar 64.  Of interest rhythmically and motivically are bars 66-72: the music struggles upward through major and minor seconds for a while.  In bar 69 the 5:4 figure in the piano sets the stage for an erratic ascent from B to C, with a minor ninth crescendo in bar 72.

The delicious Slow (but with life) part (bars 83-108) shows variations on the previous motifs (bar 86 develops the 5:4 figure, and the double open fifths in bar 87),  and I like how the wide leaps in the piano presage the sudden drop in the Viola in bars 97-98.  Octaves abound, but not for long, as the music fragments to a kind of pointillism in bars 109-132.  The open-fifths-vs.-minor-second debate is heard in the piano in bar 122, just to make sure you are paying attention, and that 5:4 figure now appears as a 5:6 in the base.

And then my favorite part: the completely schizoid Piu mosso ancora! (Bars 133-176) The section continues to play with items already established, e.g. hear the bass part of the piano continue the minor/major 2nd/7th/9th patterns, while the treble plays around with the motifs introduced back in bar 95ff. and 106-107.  Listen to how they contrast with the melodic line in the Viola, with trills (136-137), emphatically accented 16ths, the 5:4 and new 6:4 figures, while the piano obediently avoids such rhythmically complexities, allowing only some syncopations.  And I must remark upon how well the premiere performance handled this section!

In bars 177 the music develops the earlier Piu mosso (bars 59-82) and drives toward a climax where a variation of the opening is proclaimed beginning at bar 201.  During this drive, note again the presence of those minor/major 2nd/7th/9th patterns: bars 189 and 194-195 are especially impressive here, the latter two bars show a minor second expanding to a third and then a fourth, leading to the open fifths in the treble in the next two bars.

As mentioned earlier, those Beethovenian chords from bar 4 return in bars 203-205.  We then hear a brilliant, condensed, and varied recapitulation of the most important parts of the entire movement (e.g. listen to the piano in bars 212-214 and in the bass only to 218 and compare it to bars 95-102), while above one hears a near apotheosis of the 5:4 figure interspersed with continual variations on it: check out e.g. bar 219 where the Viola plays an eighth-note triplet with a duplet, as well as the bass part in the piano in bars 220-221.  Bar 221 is particularly fascinating with the way motivic and rhythmic elements coalesce in the piano, before our Beethovenian chords put an end to this serious yet playful and highly expressive movement!

Very gratified that someone else is so fond of the Più mosso ancora . . . it probably fits the "schizoid" descriptor, but that section has layers which were carefully 'plotted' (I have fond memories of one evening in the staff lounge in the basement of the MFA as I worked on the more 'mechanical' aspects of it), and other layers of pure fancy, or fancy as nearly pure as my composition is capable of.

[karlhenning]

Compositionally, I've found myself enjoying an unexpected sabbatical. I mean, there are pieces I plan to write, some of which in fact are already begun (not sure I'm allowed to say they're "works-in-progress" when I am not at present contributing to their progress).  But mentally I am enjoying a true vacation.

And, mentally, I must be getting close to rested up, because I do find composition-oriented thoughts creeping up on me with increased frequency.  Not yet the Cantata, nor even the completion of Tempus fungus . . . but last night I found myself remembering that Paul Cienniwa asked me for a harpsichord version of Lost Waters.  (The thought was, I suppose, prompted by Lance's selection of the harp suite as part of this Saturday's broadcast.)

I still haven't set a back-to-work date.  But when I do get back to work, I may start with the light duty of that adaptation.

[karlhenning]

I do like my Droid.  This morning while I was on the bus (tedious lot of traffic, too, for so early a bus) I had a brisk-ish e-mail exchange with Paul. In principle, he's still interested in the harpsichord version of Lost Waters, but he cautioned me that the soonest performance could not be for two years.  (Do I care about that, really? I've played the long game all these years, am I supposed to be discouraged because a performance won't happen NOW?) ; )

Anyway the upside to the whole conversation is, we discovered together that (a) unusually, I have Sunday afternoon free, and (b) unusually, Paul is not engaged for lunch after church.  So, bingo: lunch date.  It's entirely too long since Paul and I had a leisurely gab.

[Cato]

I do like my Droid.  This morning while I was on the bus (tedious lot of traffic, too, for so early a bus) I had a brisk-ish e-mail exchange with Paul.

How exactly does he pronounce his last name?  And is it an Italian name?

[karlhenning]

How exactly does he pronounce his last name?  And is it an Italian name?

SIN-ə-wa.  Heavily Anglicized now, but the original name was Polish, I believe.

[springrite]

SIN-ə-wa.  Heavily Anglicized now, but the original name was Polish, I believe.

That is the most vowels I have seen in a Polish name in a long time. 

[karlhenning]

I'd like to buy a vowel, Pat!

[Cato]

Suspension Bridge: Karl has pointed out two of the building blocks of this bridge movement.  The first is a scale (see e.g. bar 85 in the piano) spanning two octaves, allowing both dissonance and a pentatonic warmth.  The second block is a "periodic rhythmic pattern which needs 73 measures of 3/2 to play out."  The listener certainly does not need to recognize either of these, but the composer sets such limits for himself as guideposts toward continual inspiration.

Ever since hearing the opening to Mahler's Tenth Symphony (on the violas!), and the long chant-like phrases in the Tenth of Shostakovich, I am a sucker for long, lonely, unaccompanied themes!  So you can predict that the unadorned 20-bar Viola theme at the start of Suspension Bridge, the Second Movement of the Viola Sonata, is something which would appeal to me.  The theme almost has a hymn-like character, and is in G with only a few, but very delicious, chromatic wanderings (e.g. the Ab-Abb in bar 5, carrying forward the minor-second motif from the previous movement). 

The piano offers an ascent from a "G" abyss in bar 20, with notes often rising in 6ths (e.g. bars 20-33) until the end of the section, where some leaps of a 7th occur.  The 6ths can be heard as inversions of the 3rds in the Viola theme (e.g. from the half-note in bar 32 to 38), providing thematic-harmonic unity in a section where the long, Adagio-Largo line needs stabilizing.  The section ends with an open fifth D-A to which A an octave lower and then a deep B octave are added.  We then hear our 5:4 friend (in assorted guises) from the First Movement, while the piano revisits (again beneath various masks) the 7th and 9th chords (e.g. bars 50-54).  The piano's music recalls bars 83-94 from the First Movement.  Of interest are the insistent duplets and triplets in the Viola, which link the music rhythmically to similar insistent figures found throughout the First Movement (bars 42-43, 56, 72, and the final bar). 

Of course, these figures are also presaging similar things in the last movement, which makes one wonder if the first two movements are not elaborately inventive variations on elements from the Tango in Boston.  As befits a middle movement named Suspension Bridge the music connects itself most impressively to both of the outer movements. 
 
To return: the piano attempts to raise the bridge with the help of the 5:4 figure going up eccentric scales, but things fall apart by bar 64, where the piano reminds us that the minor-second motif has not disappeared!  And speaking of insistent figures, there is a nearly constant F/E 7th in the bass between bars 64 and 78, while our friends (the major and minor seconds in 66-67 and 75-76, the 5:4 figure) frolic back and forth, ending with the return of a variation in Eb minor of the Viola's opening statement.

Then in bar 80, starting on G in the bass (the key of the Viola's opening), the piano starts charging upward, while the Viola also rises up a D major-minor scale played in octaves.  The section leads to a Maestoso with a series of (mostly) hexachords in the piano, wherein one picks up open and diminished fifths, 7ths, and 9ths, (e.g. bar 95 C/G/B/A#/C#/G#). These point backward (e.g. bars 83-94 in Fair Warning) and forward (e.g. bars 105-113 in the Finale).

Bars 101-120 present an enigmatic dialogue with the Viola speaking pizzicatoly and the piano playing 5 8th notes against 4 (cf. the 5:4 motif), with an emphasis on our motivic intervals of 2nds, 5ths, 7ths, and 9ths.  And a cadenza for the Viola – starting on G – parallels both the heaven-storming of the piano in bars 80-92 and the preceding dialogue: note how the louder triplets form one voice contrasting with a second voice of soft 16ths. 

Punctuated by the piano (fortissimo) with a hexachord (Db/Ab/C in the bass, Eb/F/Cb in the treble), the cadenza continues now with large chords on the Viola, harkening back to the piano's Maestoso section: check bar 142-143, where the minor second (C#/D) "resolves" into a F#/C/E 7th chord.  The chords also presage a similar section in the Finale (e.g. bars 105-114 in the Tango in Boston), which even occasionally uses the same chordal sequences (cf. the two chords at the beginning of bar 147 with bars 105-106 in the Tango in Boston.  A repeated chord (D/B/F#/E) ends the cadenza, and brings us to another dialogue between the two instruments, even more antiphonal than before, with an exotic array of rhythmic figures repeating the same notes, as if a Martian Morse code were being transmitted.  In fact, however, one tastes here some of the "tango-ish" aspects of the last movement. 

From this exotic soundscape we plunge downward on the piano – starting on (a high) G – while the 5:4 motif is heard in the Viola, and is soon echoed in the piano.  After the ff climax, the Viola plays a Largo version of the opening Adagio, again in a kind of key of G, with which the piano quietly and sweetly (dolce) disagrees in the final bar with a D#/C# 7th in the bass, which we easily understand, since a 7th has been heard in the bass before (on F/E in bars 64-78).  We have gone full circle, but discover that circle is actually a Möbius strip, so that we are no longer back at the beginning but somewhere else...maybe we are in Boston and ready to tango! 

[karlhenning]

Refresh:

On Saturday, December 4, 2010, at 7:00 p.m. Eastern Time, I will present a tribute to Boston composer and clarinetist KARL HENNING. Born on October 6, 1960, Karl has an impressive background with his education having a double major in composition and clarinet performance for his bachelor's degree from the College of Wooster in Ohio, his master's degree in composition from the University of Virginia-Charlottesville, and his doctorate in composition from the University of Buffalo. His teachers included Charles Wuorninen and Louis Andriessen. Karl has also served as a choral director in the Boston area. Among his premiers is his 40-minute unaccompanied choral setting of the Saint John Passion, first performed in Boston. Karl has over 100 compositions with opus numbers at this time. He also spent time in Russia. It would be safe to say that he no doubt acquired much inspiration for his choral works after hearing the famous Russian choirs. Karl Henning is also a noted clarinetist and has performed in many venues playing his music and that of others. His own works are diversified and are given unique titles. Karl is a long-time member of CMG and contributes many erudite articles to our site.

The music of Karl Henning will include the following repertoire:

♫ Lost Waters, Op. 27, Nos. 1-4 (complete) with Mary Jane Rupert, harpist ["Irving's Hudson," "Thoreau's Walden," "Whitman's Ontario," and "Carlos Williams' Passaic"
♫ Three Things that Begin with 'C' [Cats, Clouds, and Canaries], Op. 65a with Karl Henning, clarinet, and Peter Lekx, viola
♫ Murmur of Many Waters, Op. 57 with Gordon Stout leading the Ithaca College Percussion Ensemble
♫ Castelo dos anjos (Castle Angels), Op. 90 with Boston vocal ensemble Tapestry
♫ Pascha nostrum, Op. 52a, Choir of the Cathedral Church of St. Paul, Boston, Mass., Karl Henning, director
♫ Song of Mary, Op. 39b, Choir of the Cathedral Church of St. Paul, Boston, Mass., Mark Englehardt, director

I offer information about Karl Henning at the outset of the broadcast.

Click on this link to take you directly the the broadcast:

http://wpel.streamon.fm/player/streamplayer.php?username=WPEL&stream=32k&type=1

The program can be heard anywhere in the world if your computer is equipped with speakers and you adjust your time schedule to equate to 7:00 p.m. Eastern time. My usual descriptive dialogue about the artist or subject matter precedes the musical content.

I hope you will enjoy the program on Saturday, December 4, 2010, which is now heard across our great planet. I look forward to your comments, especially from those who hear the broadcast via the Internet. I am very pleased to know the program is being heard around the world including the entire United States. ♪

[Brian]

Karl, how long is the program? I'd like to know when I'm going to sleep.