Author Archives: Arcana

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My name is Ben Hogwood, editor of the Arcana music site (arcana.fm)

Switched On – Caribou: Suddenly (City Slang)

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reviewed by Ben Hogwood

What’s the story?

Suddenly may well be an ironic title, given that it marks the reappearance of Caribou as a long playing solo artist for the first time in five years. The artist – aka Dan Snaith – has bewitched us with a number of solo albums blending instrumental electronica and a warm vocal. The last two under the pseudonym of Caribou – Swim and Our Love – were also released at an interval of half a decade, suggesting Snaith has a relaxed rhythm about his music.

What’s the music like?

There is a lot going on in the twelve tracks of Suddenly. Snaith loves to write layers in to his music, so that even the vocal tracks have a collage of instrumental riffs and colours backing them up. A lot of love and care has clearly gone into them, and a good deal of soul shows through too, Snaith coming across as a warm-hearted writer generous with his riffs and hooks. There are deep personal references, too, with Snaith’s mother appearing briefly on the opening Sister.

On occasion, however, he can be too generous. Some of the tracks start to get going but get chopped up and don’t get a chance to fully flex their muscles. It is possible that Snaith has included too much from his reported 900 experimentations that led to the album, as though desperate to cram as much in as possible. There are moments of real beauty in tracks such as Sunny’s Time, with the freedom of its meandering piano, or New Jade with its dappled textures, but they prove fleeting rather than constant.

Never Come Back is a definite exception, a warm and heartening synth-driven piece of positive energy, up there with Caribou’s best tracks. Ravi is up there too, as calming as the blue cover, while there are soft, rounded vocals with a rueful edge on Like I Loved You.

Does it all work?

See above. When Caribou nails a good track it certainly stays nailed – but on occasion there is a bit too much going on. The feeling persists that some of the more driven beats –  Ravi or Never Come Back for instance are where we see some real punch to the rhythms.

Is it recommended?

Yes. Even on an album that proves a little frustrating it is impossible not to be impressed or moved with what Caribou can achieve. He is a fine producer of some very optimistic and affirming music. Fans will lap it up for sure – but newcomers might be better directed to some of the albums further back in the canon.

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You can buy Suddenly from the Bandcamp website here

Routes to Beethoven – Handel

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by Ben Hogwood

As we move on from the two Bachs, Johann Sebastian and Carl Philipp Emmanuel, towards Beethoven, we arrived at the person he described as ‘the greatest, most ablest composer’ – George Frideric Handel.

In his superbly written Beethoven biography, Jan Swafford makes the point of how “Handel, who died in 1759…gave the first inkling that there could be such a thing as a permanent repertoire. One of the things that made Beethoven what he became was the understanding, still relatively novel at the time, that one’s music could not only bring fame in life but also write one’s name on the wall of history.”

Swafford goes on to tell of how, when Beethoven was seeking outside ‘influences’ from the work of other composers, he repeatedly asked his publishers Breitkopf & Hartel for scores and literary works. These were by the two Bachs already mentioned, but extended specifically on the musical side to Handel’s Messiah, Mozart’s Requiem and Haydn’s Masses.

The effect of Handel on Beethoven’s late works – in particular the Missa Solemnis and Choral Symphony – is also considered. He goes as far as to suggest that “The whole of the Missa Solemnis is informed by Handel…” while noting that “Beethoven jotted down the dead march from Saul as he worked on the Ninth.”

We also learn of how, “out of the blue, in the middle of December arrived the forty-volume set of Handel’s works sent by his British admirer Johann Stumpff. Beethoven was overjoyed. ‘I received these as a gift today; they have given me great joy with this…for Handel is the greatest, the ablest composer. I can still learn from him.'”

Listening to Handel over the last few days has been a thoroughly uplifting experience. His instrumental music in this encounter has been full of positive intent, while one listen to the Messiah confirms it to be the work of a composer working in the white heat of inspiration. Some of Handel’s word painting here is exquisite, such as the excitement of the violins when they portray the arrival of the angels to the shepherds.

Beethoven clearly had some familiarity with Handel’s sacred works, for in 1796 he used an excerpt from the oratorio Judas Maccabaeus, ‘See, the conqu’ring hero comes’, as the basis for a brilliant set of variations for keyboard and cello.

Handel’s Concerti Grossi and Organ Concertos are revealed to be a strong blend of invention and convention – that is, following some of the models already established but with a composer putting his own stamp on proceedings. The Op.6 concertos have such a good nature to them, but also a few more spicy dissonances in the slower music especially.

The Keyboard Suites – which Beethoven may well have played – also have craft and harmonic originality in good measure:

It appears that the true influence of Handel on Beethoven’s music may not become clear until we reach the late works – but that throughout he was held in an incredibly high regard, an inspiration to Beethoven as he sought to become a lasting household name.

Listen

This Spotify playlist presents some of the works discussed, including two of the Keyboard Suites, the first of the Op.6 Concerti Grossi and Part 1 of Messiah. It begins with the second of the Water Music suites, illustrating how Handel could work to commission but find plenty of inspiration in doing so:

Next up

Routes to Beethoven moves on to a quick look at the music of one of his teachers, Anton Albrechtsberger.

Switched On – The Heliocentrics: Infinity of Now (Madlib Invazion)

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reviewed by Ben Hogwood

What’s the story?

The Heliocentrics are musical chameleons in the best sense. The UK-based duo of Malcolm Catto and Jake Ferguson speak an international language, often flavouring their music with funk, deep jazz, psychedelia or hip hop – but never really settling for long enough to pin them down. Their refreshingly open and boundary-free approach to music has already led to highly rewarding collaborations with Mulatu Astatke, Lloyd Miller, Orlando Julius and Melvin Van Peebles, all completed since debut album Out There was released in 2007.

While there will no doubt be more working in tandem, Infinity Of Now is The Heliocentrics’ first album for three years, released on celebrated producer Madlib’s label.

What’s the music like?

In a word, brilliant. Infinity Of Now is The Heliocentrics going back to their first principles, with a richly rewarding melting pot of instrumental and vocal winners, bringing a good deal of funk into an already colourful mix. This is the sort of music the group can make instinctively but they do it so well that there could never be any accusations of musical laziness. Put simply, the pair have just the right instincts to make our heads nod, our feet move and our horizons widen a little.

To take examples, the descriptive Elephant Walk uses loping bass and braying saxophone to describe its subject, satisfying both casual listeners and those who like their funk with a bit more experimentation. There are parallels to ensemble jazz groups such as Sun Ra but also 1970s detective theme tunes, all stirred in to the stew.

The single Burning Wooden Ship is equally fine, a bright flame alight with a vivid rhythm track, while by contrast the bluesy Hanging By A Thread is led by cool organ and rasping saxophone. 99% Revolution is a great vocal track with which to start, establishing the album’s lively groove, while Light In The Dark has a lovely grainy breakbeat supporting dreamy vocals and a more exotic musical language. Its Eastern flavours could easily have rendered this as music from the 1970s yet it still sounds forward thinking.

Does it all work?

Yes. The only regret is that there are not more than eight tracks, such is the richness of Catto and Ferguson’s invention. What remains is highly concentrated and musically stimulating, and repeated listening to the album brings out more of its colour and ideas. The only regret is that the vocalists appear not to be mentioned anywhere.

Is it recommended?

Without question. The Heliocentrics have always been musical stimulators, and Infinity Of Now adds another link in that particular chain. It finds them on fine form, displaying equal parts funk, invention, experimentation and a dash of humour. More power to their funky elbows!

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In concert – Piotr Anderszewski, CBSO / Omer Meir Wellber: Bartók & Bruckner

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Piotr Anderszewski (piano), City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra / Omer Meir Wellber (above)

Symphony Hall, Birmingham
Tuesday 10 March 2020

Bartók Piano Concerto no.3 (1945)
Bruckner Symphony no.6 in A major (1879-81)

Written by Richard Whitehouse

It is a measure of how far Bruckner’s Sixth Symphony has come from being one that even dedicated exponents avoided to one relative newcomers tackle as a way into this composer. The indisposition of Mirga Gražinytė-Tyla could have seen its removal from this evening’s programme, though Omer Meir Wellber (who for the past season has been chief conductor of the BBC Philharmonic, among his portfolio of notable positions) was clearly unfazed by this most technically exacting and emotionally unpredictable among Bruckner symphonies.

As was evident from the start of the Majestoso, the City of Birmingham Symphony’s violins rendering its indelible rhythm with real incisiveness and Wellber duly steering a purposeful course through this most animated of Bruckner’s symphonic movements, while never at the expense of those more lyrical and monumental themes to come. The climactic transition into the reprise was thrillingly done, and how persuasively Wellber pointed up the coda’s breath-taking modulations then its surging peroration whose sudden slowing-up was ideally judged. The Adagio was hardly less fine, with the CBSO strings securing burnished eloquence in its alternation between lament and rapture – underpinned by a majesty no less tangible than that in the following symphonies for all its restraint and, in the closing pages, gentle evanescence.

Other conductors might have found greater wit and insouciance in the Scherzo, but Wellber yielded to few in his delineating of its quizzical and propulsive gestures; nor did the trio want for elegance, for all its final phrase was ‘leant on’ a little too insistently. Notoriously difficult to make cohere, the Finale felt all of a piece with what went before – Wellber mindful that its ultimate affirmation is not without its quixotic or even ironic asides; moreover, that its formal divisions are secondary to its being in constant transition, on the way to an apotheosis where this movement audibly chases its tail as an unlikely and even uproarious means of bringing the work full circle. Quite a piece and quite a reading as set the seal on a performance that, if not the last word as interpretation, was never less than confident and assured in its traversal.

Coupling Bruckner with Bartók might seem a risky strategy but, in the event, the Austrian’s ‘cheekiest’ symphony followed-on ideally from the Hungarian’s deftest piano concerto. Piotr Anderszewski’s (above) take on the Third was one of judicious touches, not least an initial Allegretto tougher and more demonstrative than usual, without sacrificing this music’s innate sense of ingratiation. What followed was arguably too slow for an Andante, though how acutely the pianist brought out its ‘religioso’ marking in those poised exchanges of soloist and strings then woodwind – the brief central scherzo a ‘night music’ as delectable as it was evocative. Nor did Anderszewski under-characterize the final Allegro, its underlying vivacity accorded heft and not a little ambiguity on route to the most agile and uninhibited of Bartók’s codas.

A successful concert, then, which should certainly find favour on the (regrettably truncated) European tour the CBSO now undertakes. It is back in Symphony Hall for Verdi’s Requiem, then a varied programme that features the UK premiere of Julian Anderson’s Cello Concerto.

Further listening

Here is a Spotify playlist of music from the concert. The CBSO have not recorded the Bruckner before there is a recent version available from their former chief conductor, Sir Simon Rattle, and the London Symphony Orchestra. The playlist also includes the CBSO, Rattle and pianist Peter Donohoe in a 1992 recording of the Bartók:

For further information on the current season of CBSO concerts, visit the orchestra’s website

Switched On – Emika: Klavirni Temna (Emika Records)

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reviewed by Ben Hogwood

What’s the story?

Emika made her first volume of piano recordings available five years ago. The approach was straightforward, the aim of Klavirni to record instinctive and intimate thoughts on the piano and release them to a music-buying public, who greatly appreciated the headspace they provided. From the first collection, Dilo 7 remains Emika’s biggest track on Spotify, with more than 15 million streams.

Since then she has written a first symphony (Melanfonie) and added to a  flourishing output of electronic music. Yet the piano remains her most private form of expression, and five years on, she revisits it on record.

On Klavirni Temna we find an artist whose life has changed a great deal, with motherhood and relocation to a self-sustaining studio outside of Berlin just two of the biggest life changes. However she continues to find solace and inspiration from solo sessions at the keyboard.

What’s the music like?

Klavirni was released before peaceful piano playlists became a thing. With its sequel, the danger was that Emika would be making music that might be seen as derivative.

She cleverly sidesteps that possibility by delivering deeply felt thoughts on the piano that go through electronic studio trickery before reaching the listener, the purity of the sound effectively destroyed by extraneous glitches and pitch wobbles. In spite of this treatment they still reach the parts other solo piano records don’t, calming the mind with their direct musical language.

Once again Emika’s medium of communication is ‘Dilo’, the Czech word for ‘moment’, giving her the freedom to emulate fellow compatriots Dvořák, Janáček and Suk in writing sketches and character pieces for the piano.

There are passing similarities in figuration between Emika’s work and the shorter pieces of Erik Satie, the Preludes of Chopin, or the Metamorphosis works of Philip Glass, but ultimately her personality shines through. Most of the pieces are around three minutes, each acting as a concentrated musical postcard.

Dilo 21 begins at an easy walking pace but is deeply expressive, thanks in part to a vibrato applied to the piano sound. Its block chords have a gorgeous mottled sound, as though we were listening to someone playing the piano in the room next door.

This is a level of intimacy maintained throughout Klavirni Temna, where private thoughts are communicated directly to the listener. Dilo 22 flickers in the half-light like a resilient candle, finding greater brightness by shifting effortlessly into the major key halfway through. Dilo 23 is more propulsive, showing energy can still be found in this stripped back form of music.

On occasion the aural perspective shifts. Dilo 29 is airborne, with a touchingly sad melody of childlike simplicity. Dilo 26 shares that feeling of suspension in the sky, its higher arpeggios complementing an arching melody from the piano’s left hand. Most striking of all is Dilo 31, where the bottom literally falls out of the piano. As the piece progresses the pitch steadily drops, like a wind-up toy running out of power, until it sinks to the ground, helpless.

As the collection progresses the studio involvement intensifies. Penultimate piece Dilo 33 feels more physical but muffled too, the wall between listener and performer thicker than previously – a feeling reinforced by the flickering figures of Dilo 34, beautiful but otherworldly. These figures are eaten up, the destruction wrought by the studio now complete, leaving behind only static noise.

Does it all work?

Yes. It is a lot harder than you might think to write simple structures for piano that also carry emotional meaning, but Emika achieves that feat throughout Klavirni Temna. The electronic manipulations are both clever and sensitive, refracting the sound through improbable prisms but never distorting them to the point where it becomes illegible.
It helps to hear the physical process of playing the piano, too, the human elements brought to the fore.

Is it recommended?

Wholeheartedly. If you’re in need of time for contemplation, away from the relentless demands of technology, put this on. It really does calm and isolate the mind.

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