[We welcome Dan Albertson as a new contributor. A
short bio appears at the end of this piece. Ed.]
Thinking About Helmut Lachenmann,
with Recommended Recordings
Dan Albertson
[November 2004.]
Helmut Lachenmann, the German composer born in Stuttgart
in 1935, has been at the center of musical debates for nearly four decades
and remains there, undaunted, today. His works offer both listeners and
performers tremendous challenges ― insurmountable challenges, some
would say ― but his music nonetheless is performed
and people do listen to it (perhaps in the ways in which
the composer intends). Vital to his aesthetic belief is the reformulation
and renewal of musical traditions; why simply accept the hierarchy of
traditions the evolution of music has handed down to us? He achieves
this musical bouleversement by asking his listeners and
performers to suspend, or perhaps completely reject, their inherited
beliefs about music, because they serve only to hinder and distort the
listening experience. His ability to achieve beauty through the use of
unheard or undesired sounds is a testament to his meticulous craft.
Judging by his influence, for better or worse, on the following
generations of European composers, it seems that he has not only built
a successful and important oeuvre but also a significant body of admirers,
whose music shares some of his traits, but never with the same verve.
Although his aesthetic has perhaps not served as the foremost model in
new European music ― and to his benefit: the fewer clones, the
better ― he nonetheless ranks as one of Europe’s reigning
composers, both in terms of his music itself and his thoughts about music’s
troubled past, present and future. Lachenmann’s attitude and output,
signifying a reaction against the staid music of his student years, a
break from dogmatic, jaded musical principles and a fondness for the
music of the past, still resonates today.
Lachenmann’s musical development began early. Born
into a Protestant family in Stuttgart on November 27, 1935, Helmut Friedrich
Lachenmann’s earliest musical experiences were those, not unexpectedly,
heard at church. Especially intriguing to him was the sound of his church’s
organ and chorus; later, from 1946-48, he sang in this choir, which specialized
in the music of Orlando di Lasso, Heinrich Sch?tz and other pre-Bach
composers. He began composing soon after and wrote many large-scale pieces,
including a large symphony, but all of these early scores are now lost.
For three academic years (1955-58), he studied composition and music
theory with Johann Nepomuk David and piano with J?rgen Uhde at the
Musikhochschule Stuttgart. A definite turning point in his career occurred
away from the classroom, when he attended the summer courses at Darmstadt
for the first time in 1957, where he found a mentor in the form of Luigi
Nono, one of the few composers at that time of rampant serialism who
openly embraced the past. Lachenmann became Nono’s first private
pupil and stayed with him in Venice from 1958-60. He later had meetings
with Alfons Kontarsky, Henri Pousseur, Frederic Rzewski and Karlheinz
Stockhausen in Cologne in 1963-64 and vital encounters with the percussionists
Christoph Caskel and Michael W. Ranta at the same time, the effects of
which are still felt in his musical outlook today.
Like his teacher, Lachenmann’s music has constantly
evolved to interact with ― or at least touch upon ― the music
of the past. For instance, his clarinet concerto Accanto (1975-76,
rev. 1982) utilizes Mozart’s only clarinet concerto, in its entirety,
on tape; Tanzsuite mit Deutschlandlied (1979-80), as its
title implies, alludes to the German national anthem, attributed to Franz
Joseph Haydn; Staub (1985-87) is based on material from
Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony and is in fact intended to be programmed
with that work, despite the striking contrast between the two; and Schreiben (2002-03,
rev. 2004) is said to be based on the opening contrabass note of Wagner’s Das
Rheingold, the same E-flat chosen by Richard Strauss to begin
his Eine Alpensymphonie, thus perhaps linking together
three vastly diverse figures in German music. (I write “said to
be” because I have not yet heard the piece and the composer has
ambivalent feelings about it.)
What Lachenmann has attempted in his music is a clearly
evident reanalysis and reconsideration of the past, as seen and heard
through the same, perhaps clich?d instruments composers have used
for centuries, but now with a different aim: disorientation, not superficial
enjoyment. By taking the essence of so-called classical music, i.e.,
the notes themselves ― not the fetishized veneer of both audiences
and performers, or the weighty expectations of grandeur they have heaped
upon them ― Lachenmann has shown a keen ability both to place his
work within a historical context and not recoil into any neo–
movement. His music lacks the generalized, perhaps romanticized, notion
of beauty: something immediately appealing, something refined, something
through its undeniable charm persuading everyone of its excellence. Lachenmann’s
music is appealing, but perhaps not immediately so; it is refined, but
to such a degree that alienation is possible; and it is charming, but
far from jocund. Is it likable? Is it accessible?
Such questions are often asked. For these reasons, it is quite possible
that average listeners will be disappointed when they hear his music.
In his pieces from 1966 onward, his theory of a musique
concr?te instrumentale, formulated in an essay from
that year, is first seen in a mature form. By this point, musique
concr?te (sounds recorded from everyday life) had
been in existence for 20 years, but was now primarily mixed with,
if not completely surpassed by, electronic sounds created in a studio.
Although essentially a very crude form of musical expression, the musique
concr?te field had nonetheless created some haunting
and unusually beautiful, almost idyllic, music. Lachenmann
chose to take this same attitude and apply it to existing instruments
by utilizing a rich palette of unorthodox instrumental effects. They
do not exist as effects, however, but instead as characters in the
musical dramaturgy, so to speak, as they do in most works of the
traditional repertoire.
Although his chamber works are as intimate as any ever
written, they are also among his most experimental works. Because of
the composer’s research into new capabilities of string instruments,
the three string quartets (Gran Torso [1971-72, rev. 1978,
1988], Reigen seliger Geister [1989] and Grido [2000-01,
rev. 2002]) immediately stand out from his other, no less considerable,
chamber pieces. They are replete with new techniques and ideas, but are
all vastly different in nature. The first is abrasive, almost scolding;
the second is an atmospheric, nearly hollowed-out world of sonic minutiae;
and the third combines elements of both, but certainly leans toward the
sound of the second. In his orchestral pieces, he employs unusually large,
some would say Romantic-sized, orchestras, with the addition
(in most pieces) of ad-hoc players using a variety of conventional and
unconventional instruments, ranging from ping-pong balls to toy frogs
to bathtubs and beyond; one or two electric guitars (one of the first
composers to consistently use this instrument in an orchestral context);
Hammond organ and/or pianos, especially the latter in recent pieces,
where usually two are used as giant reverberators; and a vast array of
percussion instruments. The orchestral works are thus colorful, but not
at all excessive in their treatment. Lachenmann manages these large forces
with utmost care and an almost Webernesque sense of timbre. In fact,
it could be said that the electric guitar and Hammond organ are to Lachenmann
what the mandolin and celesta were to Webern: instruments whose use was
sparse, but whose unmistakable qualities were beneficial at the right
moment.
Whether his redefinition of music encompassing and embracing
all sounds will survive and/or be expanded upon remains to seen, but
one could only hope that his experiments ― successful experiments ― are
not forgotten when the time comes again to reevaluate what we as listeners
hear. For those willing to venture into terra incognita,
here are five discs I recommend as ideal introductions to Lachenmann’s
multifaceted soundworlds, though of course, experienced listeners will
almost certainly have these in their collections already.
The best place to start is an ECM New Series recording
of three watershed works in his oeuvre: Schwankungen am Rand (1974-75), Mouvement
( vor der Erstarrung) (1982-84) and “…zwei
Gef?hle…,” Musik mit Leonardo (1991-92).
The first piece is scored for brass and strings, according
to its subtitle, but in German, Blech means both brass
and sheet metal. Thus, in addition to brass and strings, some of which
are deployed throughout the concert space, there are two pianos and four
thunder sheets played by two percussionists, not to mention an additional
member of the string family: the electric guitar, here two, in fact.
For the most part, it is a quiet, almost static piece (the title, Fluctuations
on the Fringe, implies that the fringe here is not only that
between the instruments themselves, but also the border between noise
and silence), punctuated by occasional brass outbursts; the pianos lead
the way most of the time, however, their steady cluster pulse like a
beacon. Although E?tv?s’ rendering is much quicker than
the previous one by Bour (see recording 2), it does not
at all seem rushed; the music still flows very naturally and efficiently.
The big advantage is the overall improvement in recorded sound.
Mouvement ( vor der Erstarrung) is
an entirely different piece, one characterized by much subtler, much
more refined motions. It sounds almost like a direct dialogue with the
music of the past, presented through the eyeglass of the modern world.
The title refers to paralysis. Perhaps the piece acknowledges life ― indeed
perhaps unwittingly ― within a situation where paralysis pervades
music. Originally written for Ensemble InterContemporain and premiered
by this group under the present conductor, this piece has been recorded
elsewhere, equally brilliantly, but its inclusion here makes this disc
even more laudable.
Lastly, “…zwei Gef?hle…,” Musik
mit Leonardo is another of Lachenmann’s trademark pieces,
one made especially famous by Lachenmann’s frequent reading
of its solo part (or parts; here it is done, as originally intended,
by two people: Franck Ollu and Ueli Wiget). It takes the refined
nature of the previous piece to another level, but is more uncompromising
in spirit: Instruments are used, as usual, in extreme but surprisingly
beautiful ways, and the text is delivered in a completely staccato,
fragmented manner, perhaps off-putting to some, but not at all overused.
The text itself is by Leonardo da Vinci, spoken in German translation;
even in English or Italian, though, it would be identifiable or recognizable
only in spots. This piece was later incorporated into Lachenmann’s
opera Das M?dchen mit den Schwefelh?lzern (1990-96,
rev. 1999), where it forms a crucial point in the middle part of
the piece.
The disc features Peter E?tv?s as conductor of
all three pieces, with both the Ensemble Modern and Ensemble Modern Orchestra,
and he brings considerable skill to these challenging large-scale pieces.
The performers themselves are top-notch and obviously well-attuned to
the demands made by the composer. (ECM New Series 1789)
Next I would suggest a col legno release which compiles
earlier recordings by this label onto one budget-priced CD. It contains
the premiere recordings (all live) of Int?rieur I (1965-66), Schwankungen
am Rand and Air (1968-69, rev. 1994; the revised
version is the one presented here).
Int?rieur I has been described by
the composer as a breakthrough piece, perhaps his unofficial Opus One.
Scored for a solo percussionist performing in a horseshoe-shaped setup,
the piece is a direct result of Lachenmann’s fruitful contact with
Caskel and Ranta in Cologne a few years earlier. Its emphasis on primarily
unpitched instruments, including various cymbals, gongs and metallic
objects, marked the earliest phase of Lachenmann’s experiments
in bringing the production of sound, even its supposedly ugly attributes,
to the surface. It is not a mature work, but still noteworthy.
The Schwankungen available here is the live
recording from its premiere at Donaueschingen in October 1975. Ernest
Bour, the stalwart conductor of the European avant-garde, brings a great
reading, but the recording technology of the time leaves some of the
piece’s more delicate moments slightly hazy. That is a minor drawback,
but I personally prefer the somewhat slower tempi of his reading to E?tv?s’ recording;
this one is a full five minutes longer, with greater tension ― perhaps
abandon! ― in the brass.
The final piece is the percussion concerto Air.
Its 20-minute course includes something unique in Lachenmann’s
music, a cadenza. It occurs toward the middle of the piece, however,
not the customary position nearer the climax. Its part is entirely free
for the performer and typically lasts a few minutes; here these moments
of quiet repose serve as a useful transition between the anxious figures
of the beginning and the occasionally absurd sounds, including omnipresent
croaking frogs, of the piece’s culminating sections. Again, there
is a focus on metallic tones, including the soloist’s crystalline
Japanese temple gong and the distinct fuzz of electric doorbells operated
not by the soloist, but instead by ad-hoc players, often coupled with
abrasive sounds of gongs or metals. The title could mean so much: the
air of other planets, as sung in Schoenberg’s Second Quartet, maybe,
or the slow palpitations of breath signified by the instruments, including
brass occasionally filled with water. No matter: The result is a piece
which depends not so much on showy virtuosity but rather on a more personal,
intimate skill.
The percussion soloist in Int?rieur I is
Christoph Caskel; in Air, it’s Christian Dierstein.
The orchestra in Schwankungen is the SWF-Sinfonieorchester
Baden-Baden und Freiburg and in Air, the Staatsorchester
Stuttgart. The conductor of Schwankungen is Bour; Lothar
Zagrosek leads Air. All performances are superb, but as
mentioned above, the recording of Schwankungen is old; Int?rieur
I is even older but shows its age less, due to the concentration
on a single performer. (col legno collage WWE 20511)
Now a glimpse at two important recent chamber works by
Lachenmann: Allegro sostenuto (1986-88, rev. 1989, passim)
and Serynade (1997-98, rev. 2000), as recorded by the relatively
new, but very ambitious, Austrian label Kairos.
The trio ― clarinet doubling bass clarinet, cello
and piano ― Allegro sostenuto is, as its title declares,
a prolonged allegro of 30 minutes. Nonetheless, it is much more tranquil,
almost somber, than one would imagine an allegro to be. Here Lachenmann
is at his most sublime, still making good use of extended techniques,
but here they are awash in an almost surreal musical glow of dialogues
and solos. The performance is excellent and though the piece has been
recorded elsewhere, the easy availability of this CD makes it especially
priceless.
The second work, Serynade, is also a half-hour
in duration but for only one instrument; it could be called a duo for
piano and pedals, as the pianist must navigate an almost ungodly web
of pedal requirements. One seldom encounters a piece of such abundant
energy and variety; its moods range from the solemn, occasionally repeating
blocks of the beginning, to swiftly running passages covering several
octaves. It is a showcase of virtuosity, one not to be undertaken by
easily fatigued pianists, and is throughout a beautiful work, fully engaging
the listener in turns both serene and tempestuous. The work was written
especially for the composer’s wife Yukiko Sugawara and for those
wondering, the y in the work’s title alludes to her.
Sugawara plays piano in both pieces and in the trio is
joined by clarinetist Shizuyo Oka and cellist Lucas Fels, all veterans
of Lachenmann’s music. They perform exceptionally well, which is
not a surprise. (Kairos 0012212KAI)
?
Up next are both recordings of the composer’s only
theatrical experiment, the opera Das M?dchen mit den Schwefelh?lzern.
I know, picking two recordings is technically cheating, but the pieces
are somewhat different and each interpretation merits a listen. The first
was made by Kairos and the second by ECM New Series, both
labels mentioned earlier.
Although this work is less than a decade old, it has already
received stagings in various parts of Europe and in Japan. The second
performance captures the composer’s revision, sometimes called
the Japan version, and the initial recording done by Lothar
Zagrosek and his Staatsoper Stuttgart crew ― who have since put
it on many times ― dates from its first run. The piece is essentially
unchanged, except in small but to Lachenmann meaningful instrumental
details and in the length of the aforementioned “…zwei
Gef?hle…” which is abridged in the new version
to about half its original duration. It is a piece of amazing power,
all originating from unlikely text sources, including the classic Andersen
fairy tale, some of Nietzsche’s most famous poetry, a text about
the volcano Stromboli by Leonardo da Vinci, and a prison letter from
Gudrun Ensslin, Lachenmann’s childhood friend. These combine to
make a compelling statement about the world today, a pointed but oblique
criticism of a world which cares not enough for its people. The protagonist’s
suffering is constantly felt throughout the piece, but never is it a
detriment or nuisance; quite on the contrary, the listener is drawn into
her struggle for life against the elements. The enormous orchestral forces,
including more than 100 players, further create this eerily familiar
yet frightening world. It is a work difficult to produce because of the
music’s inherent theatricality, but a piece chilling even in one’s
living room. The addition of the Japanese sh? mouth
organ, famous for its lament-like, sustained tone, creates a further
level of drama and fright in this score.
On the new recording, Eiko Morikawa and Nicole Tibbels
are the sopranos, Helmut Lachenmann the speaker, Mayumi Miyata the sh? soloist,
Tomoko Hemmi and Yukiko Sugawara the piano soloists, and Sylvain Cambreling
leads the SWR-Vokalensemble Stuttgart and SWR-Sinfonieorchester Baden-Baden
und Freiburg. The old one features sopranos Elizabeth Keusch and Sarah
Leonard, speaker Salome Kammer, sh?-player Miyata,
pianists Hemmi and Sugawara, and Lothar Zagrosek conducts the chorus
and orchestra of the Staatsoper Stuttgart. Soloists, both vocal and instrumental,
are universally consistent and it is especially interesting to compare
Kammer’s female reading of the Leonardo da Vinci text with Lachenmann’s
shortened reading: a great contrast indeed. ECM New Series 1858/59 (new)
and Kairos 0012282KAI (old).
My last pick is a Kairos recording of three important
orchestral works, Kontrakadenz (1970-71), Klangschatten mein
Saitenspiel (1972) and Fassade (1973, rev. 1987),
as issued by Kairos.
The first work is, in my opinion, Lachenmann’s finest: Kontrakadenz.
It is shorter than the other two and also, I believe, more immediately
accessible. That statement does not mean, however, that it is transparent
and/or catchy; it is still a challenge. Toward the beginning,
one hears various percussive rustlings, including falling ping-pong balls,
coins, etc. and after a while two ad-hoc players turn on a radio and
tune into someone speaking, in this case the composer himself mentioning
the performance that the listener is hearing. It is a strange moment
of irony. The piece is also notable for its unusually prolonged climax,
one employing what could be called motifs: A sustained Hammond organ
figure, commented on by the electric guitar and percussion, then leads
to a crescendo tam-tam strike, after which roaring brass and strings
enter the fray. It is a passage repeated ― with variations, naturally ― several
times before the work attains its proper end. This radio recording was
made soon after its 1971 premiere.
Klangschatten mein Saitenspiel is
a game of strings, as its title implies. The strings in this case are
48 standard strings, plus three pianos employed in such a manner as to
blur the barrier between percussion and string instruments. Both pianos
and strings are wont to play in groups and in changing intervals and
roles; the pianos play throughout the piece, but it is not overtly clear
that there are three pianists; one might think there are only two (or
possibly only one), so sparse is their material. Their isolated notes,
sprinkled across similarly irregular patterns in the strings, are fundamental
to the piece, but the sustained slow tempi and quiet dynamics may make
this work more difficult for novice listeners. Be patient! This is one
of the most infrequently performed of Lachenmann’s pieces (no mean
accomplishment); the recording is the premiere from December 1972.
Fassade, here in its revised form, is more
immediately appealing, but is still replete with Lachenmann’s signature
taste for the extraordinary. The composer calls it a secret march and
indeed it has forward propulsion throughout most of its 22-minute course.
As in Kontrakadenz, there is another element at work in
this piece; instead of a radio, it is a tape which features mostly radio
static, white noise and occasionally a sliver of a voice. When used in
tandem with large orchestral forces, including especially large quantities
of brass and percussion, the overall noise factor is very high, a fact
which makes its more subdued moments even more prominent. It is a finely
balanced work of extremes.
Gerhard Gregor, Peter Roggenkamp and Zsigmond Szathm?ry
are the piano soloists in Klangschatten and they perform
with the needed sense of isolation and collaboration; longtime Lachenmann
advocate Michael Gielen conducts all three pieces with, in sequence,
the SWR Radio-Sinfonieorchester Stuttgart, NDR-Sinfonieorchester and
SWR-Sinfonieorchester Baden-Baden und Freiburg. Conductor and musicians
are superb. (Kairos 0012232KAI)
Whether you pick up these recordings or come across others,
I urge you to give this compelling composer a chance. It could very well
change your outlook on music.
[Dan Albertson is an editor, poet, translator and
writer based in Michigan. An amateur musicologist for many years,
he has directed the online database “The Living Composers Project” since
2000 and recently edited a two-part journal on the life and works
of Helmut Lachenmann, the first of its kind in English (2004-05,
Contemporary Music Review). He has also contributed booklet notes
to the British label Metier and articles for German and Russian
publications. Work as an editor and translator, notably the latter
for the German label Cybele, allows him to explore his musicological
and poetic interests. His poetry, primarily abstract in nature, has
been used in recent years by composers in Asia, Europe and South
America.]
