The International Contemporary Ensemble works intensively with composers in bringing works into being from initial ideas to final performance, from process to product. Such merging of both creative and recreative sides of the music-making equation is nothing new; think of Haydn experimenting at Esterhazy, Duke Ellington running in and out of the studio between road trips, or Meredith Monk imparting her singular vocal techniques to her ensemble. In the case of this release featuring compositions by Phyllis Chen and Nathan Davis, ICE’s game plan has paid off handsomely.
Whether or not you respond favorably to all of these works, you cannot doubt the vividness, the flexible virtuosity, the layers of nuance, and the conviction characterizing every performance. What is more, the engineering is outstanding; it conveys both a vibrant ambience and carefully considered balances between instruments, voices, and electronics.
Davis’ title composition encompasses four movements. The first is the most complex. Here Davis presents an onomatopoeic Polish text, where soprano Tony Arnold rapidly jumps between register extremes as complex yet transparent aggregates of instruments expand and contract around her. Unaccompanied vocal episodes provide both respite and focus. Movement two, Dada, is largely spoken, accompanied by sparse jew harp phrases that grow denser and less characterful as the movement unfolds. The relatively spare and static remaining two movements seem to belong to another piece and aesthetic.
Although Ghostlight is written for prepared piano, many notes are left untouched by implements like screws, washers, and erasers. It adds up to a marvelous textural fusion of prepared and unprepared sonorities and overtones that hold your attention for 10 well contrasted minutes, abetted by Jacob Greenberg’s polished and perceptive pianism. My favorite moments of Davis’ On speaking a hundred names for solo bassoon and live electronic processing occur when the instrument multiplies into an army of super bassoons, flaunting long sustained tones.
As a virtuoso of both toy piano and “adult” piano, Phyllis Chen is a master at integrating both instruments’ sonorities with music boxes in Hush. I love its allusions (whether intentional or not) to the fast dance sections of Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsodies, and also its delicate, atmospheric cooling down. After two fast minutes, Chimers settles into a gentle, hypnotic rhythmic groove highlighted by some lovely, lyrical clarinet writing.
If Chen’s whimsical originality is less apparent in Beneath A Trace Of Vapor for flute and tape, she assiduously integrates extended flute techniques and electronic sounds without falling sway to the genre’s clichés. For Mobius, a performer punches holes into a strip of paper that is hand cranked through a music box, each hole enabling a tine to sound. An electronic musician processes the sounds of the tines and of the paper going through the machines. Sometimes the music goes nowhere, yet at other times beautiful sonorities emerge. I suspect that Mobius makes more of a theatrical and humorous impact in live performance. In any event, many American new music organizations and presenters should take an example from the careful thought, hard work, and loving care that informs every aspect of this release.
