Morton Feldman (Feldman Edition 10) |
The Lower Gallery of the Tel Aviv Museum of Art was
the venue on June 25th 2024 for the final concert of a marathon held under the
auspices of Hateiva. (Hateiva, an intimate performance hall in Jaffa, Israel,
is a centre for experimentation in music, for concerts
of contemporary- and other classical music, electronic sound art events, video
exhibitions and screenings, multidisciplinary events and lectures on new
music.) The evening's program consisted of two works of New York composer
Morton Feldman (1926-1097), one of the most
significant figures in the music of the second half of the 20th century.
The
concert opened with "The King of Denmark" (1965) a short solo-percussion piece performed by
multi-disciplinary musician Oded Geizhals. A study
in instrumental colour, the score, notated graphically, consists of a
three-part grid indicating high-, medium- and low pitches. It abounds in
numbers, letters and symbols representing instruments and articulations. The
actual choice of instruments, however, is left almost entirely to the performer
and there is no use of sticks or mallets. The sounds are produced only by the
performer’s hands or arms. Might one, therefore, consider this an
anti-percussion piece? A tempo runs throughout, but bearing no rhythmic
coherence. From the work's first diaphanous, scarcely-audible sounds, Geizhals'
gracile and unwavering delivery draws the audience into the intimate canvas of
"The King of Denmark", as mostly-single gestures seem to float out,
detached and weightless, the large instruments and small finding uncanny
uniformity of volume. Adding to the sound world created by the artist's subtle handling of the
many instruments surrounding him on three sides was the intriguing visual
aspect of the making of music.
Morton Feldman’s "Rothko Chapel" (1971),
a tribute to Mark Rothko, was named for the Houston, Texas multi-faith chapel,
a place for meditation and inter-religious conferences. Built to house fourteen
of Rothko's large paintings, the work had its première in the chapel in 1972, a
year after its opening. Abstract Expressionist painter Mark Rothko (born Markus
Rothkowitz in Dvinsk, Russian Empire), was a friend of the composer. Feldman
had a deep understanding and appreciation of Rothko’s paintings. At the Tel
Aviv concert, Feldman’s sonic meditation existing within a sparse soundscape,
was performed by Imri Talgam (celesta), Oded Geizhals (percussion), Yoni
Gartner (viola), Einat Aronstein (soprano), Ina Magril (alto) and 20 singers
making up the Moran Singers Ensemble (conductor: Tom Karni; music director:
Naomi Faran). Yuval Zorn conducted the performance. Tel Aviv Museum's Lower
Gallery is a tall, imposing, stark space, devoid of artworks, devoid of colour
and of distraction. With the singers lined along both sides of the hall, the
instrumentalists located at the front and Zoran conducting from the back, it
was as if the performers had physiologically recreated the chapel and that we,
the attenders, were seated within this human sonic shell. Feldman had said that his
"choice of instruments (in terms of forces used, balance and timbre) was
affected by the space of the chapel as well as the paintings" and that he
had wanted the music "to permeate the whole octagonal-shaped room and
not be heard from a certain distance.” Approachable, more structurally
straightforward and explicitly tonal than much of his oeuvre, the economy of
this music echoes the simplicity of Rothko’s imagery. Here, time is
stretched. Silences are as much a part of the musical experience as the sounds.
Maestro Zorn drew all these elements and the performers into a meticulously
amalgamated realisation of the score. With articulacy, the singers,
humming and singing wordless syllables, sometimes together, at others, in
small groupings, gave finely-controlled expression to the work's static,
fragile timbres, these punctuated by the occasional lush, gossamery cluster.
Geizhals and Talgam's playing endorsed the piece's carefully-paced haunting
beauty and reverence. In small gestures, then in melodiousness wrought of
easeful leaps and, later, in her dialogue with Yoni Gartner, Einat Aronstein's
pure, resonant vocalization coincided with the work's meditative aspect.
Gartner's playing, poised, measured, elegiac and reflective, was a moving
reminder that, in this piece, Feldman's Jewishness is never far removed; the
closing lamenting viola melodies, set against repeated four-note patterns in
the vibraphone and celesta, including a lonely melody which Feldman wrote when
he was a teenager, are clearly Hebraic in origin. An eloquent,
profound and imposing performance.