Johannesburg composer Julian Brink initially conceived Utility Music as part of a film score. The film was unfinished, but he revisited the music during the pandemic in 2020, moulding it into a standalone album. The recording took place remotely around the world, with contributions from musicians in Los Angeles, New York, London, Frankfurt and Hamburg, not to mention the composer’s bedroom at his apartment in Hollywood.
The title reflects the German phrase ‘gebrauchsmusik’ – music written for a specific event or purpose – as well as a reflection of how the recording came about. The influence of John Cage is clear, too, in the more experimental aspects of the music and its germination.
What’s the music like?
Easy on the ear – but never too easy. Brink often works from the approach that less is more, and it serves him extremely well, for Utility Music has an intimate, conversational approach that instinctively draws the listener closer and communicates directly.
The quality of his instrumentalists is a clear asset, too – and they all deserve a name check. The core are three string players, Moldovan violinist Dan-Iulian Druțac, violist Nick Revel (of the PUBLIQ Quartet), and cellist Joe Zeitlin. They are complemented by woodwind (Matt Demerritt), clarinet (Tyler Neidermayer), horn (Meredith Moore), trumpet (Joe Auckland), brass (Juliane Gralle), harp (Hanna Rabe), percussion (Max Gaertner) and bass (Gabe Noel).
Colombo/Green Fingers shows a little of the influence of Steve Reich, but Miniatures is where you sense Brink’s individual voice is louder, a mechanism slowly turning with clicks and whirs against coloristic effects from the strings. Simple Trio is an intimate aside, while Eventually Lapse has watery textures over which a violin sings and calls. Eastwood no.4, meanwhile, is especially descriptive, attractively scored for harp, percussion, viola and cello – while the final Pattern Shells, for mixed quartet, is attractively shaded.
Does it all work?
It does indeed – and if you need further proof, watch this ‘reaction’ video from viola player Nick Revel:
Is it recommended?
Yes – very much so. There are some intriguing and descriptive sound worlds awaiting listeners here, but also intimate and personal asides that speak with a calm but probing intensity.
Listen & Buy
To hear clips and explore buying options, you can view this release on the Sono Luminus website
As its title confirms, this is the tenth studio album that Bibio – aka Stephen Wilkinson – has completed. Much of that odyssey has been for Warp Records, where he has garnered a loyal following from albums such as Ambivalence Avenue, Mind Bokeh, Silver Wilkinson and the attractive Sleep On The Wing EP from 2020.
For BIB10, however, Wilkinson wanted to use more synths, drum machines and electric guitars, but in his words, ‘getting a more polished sound, without ironing the humanity out of it, was part of the ethos’.
What’s the music like?
Anyone following Bibio over those ten albums will know that he has a high quality threshold, and that his songs are consistently good and meaningful. His work also evades capture where genres are concerned, flitting between electronica, pop, folk and a lightly psychedelic approach.
BIB10 feels firmly rooted in the 1980s at times with its electro-funk work, but on other occasions when the guitar comes out it even passes close to the orbit of Steely Dan. The music has a typically airy disposition and an attractive lightness, while Bibio’s vocals are as always very nicely done.
Two tracks feature the resonant tones of Olivier St Louis – the breezy S.O.L. and the album closer Fools, which dips into RnB. Elsewhere, Off Goes The Light is an attractively light hearted song in a big space, Sharratt is a nicely designed web of guitar melodies, while the languid Rain And Shine has slight Eastern leanings.
Cinnamon Cinematic is a perky number where those Steely Dan references crop up, its closing guitar solo a good bit of fun. Meanwhile there are more pastoral overtones in the thoughtful tones of A Sanctimonious Song, with its woozy effects.
Does it all work?
It does. One of the funkiest of Bibio’s albums, it also contains some of his most satisfying, club-based songs. The drums machines work a treat, ensuring a bit of time travel for listeners as they go back three decades.
Is it recommended?
Heartily. Bibio remains one of our underrated musical wonders, and Warp really do have a treasure on their hands. More people should appreciate his music, and the way it sweeps our cares away!
Two years ago, in the midst of the pandemic, I wrote a piece for Arcana FM on ‘Mahler’s Eighth and coming out of COVID-19’. I concluded by saying that I wouldn’t get to see a performance of this epic ‘Symphony of a Thousand’ – and complete my personal Mahler live symphony cycle – any time soon, but that when I did it would have a very particular significance.
I certainly didn’t know that the performance would be by the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Vasily Petrenko at the Royal Albert Hall on a Sunday afternoon in late October 2022, a concert that was itself rescheduled due to the pandemic.
And what a performance it was. The Royal Albert Hall could be said to be purpose built for this work, accommodating not just an expanded orchestra (including seven off-stage brass players in the gods) but three choirs, two boys’ choirs, eight soloists and a huge concert organ (the Royal Albert Hall’s was once the largest instrument in the world).
You get the full blast of the organ from the off with the tumultuous opening of Part 1’s Veni Creator Spiritus. It’s quite a ride from there on in, and Petrenko and the RPO handled it superbly all the way through to the powerful finale of Part 2’s setting of the end of Goethe’s Faust. This was not just about the big sections, the delicate moments were deftly done too.
But this work is really all about the singing, and the assembled choirs of the Philharmonia and Bournemouth Symphony Choruses and City of London Choir, as well as the Tiffin Boys’ Choir and Schola Cantorum of the Cardinal Vaughan Memorial School were magnificent.
And it wasn’t just the massed voices, as glorious as they were. The soloists – and let’s name them (above): Sarah Wegener (Magna Peccatrix), Jacquelyn Wagner (Gretchen), Regula Mühlemann (Mater Gloriosa), Jennifer Johnston (Mulier Samaritana), Claudia Huckle (Mary of Egypt), Vincent Wolfsteiner (Doctor Marianus), Benedict Nelson (Pater Ecstaticus) and James Platt (Pater Profundus) – were excellent too.
I made the point in my earlier piece that there is something about the combination of the mass assembled forces performing together and being joined by an audience in an even bigger collective. I think the standing ovation from the near sell-out crowd at the end was testimony to this.
Mahler’s Eighth is definitely one of those pieces that you need to see performed live. I’m so glad that I finally did.
John Earls is Director of Research at Unite the Union and tweets at @john_earls
Vaughan Williams Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis (1910) Tom Coult Pleasure Garden: Concerto for Violin and Orchestra (2020) (London premiere) Vaughan Williams The Lark Ascending (1914-20); Symphony no.9 in E minor (1956-57)
Daniel Pioro (violin), London Philharmonic Orchestra / Andrew Manze
Royal Festival Hall, London Wednesday 26 October 2022
Reviewed by Ben Hogwood. Concert pictures with thanks to the London Philharmonic Orchestra; picture of Andrew Manze (c) Benjamin Ealovega
Subtitled Visions of England, this concert from the London Philharmonic Orchestra and Andrew Manze was a celebration of Vaughan Williams, marking 150 years since the composer’s birth. As part of an extremely full conducting CV, Manze has a recently recorded cycle of the composer’s nine symphonies under his belt with the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra, and clearly holds a special affection for his music.
Two of RVW’s most popular pieces began each half of the concert, but the main act was a relatively rare encounter with composer’s final symphony, completed a year before his death. The Ninth Symphony is a work needing repeated listening before its treasures can be fully revealed, but more recently it has started to get the performances it needs to make an impact. As Manze himself told us from the platform, it also has a deep resonance for the London Philharmonic Orchestra themselves. On the morning of 26 August 1958 they were rehearsing with the composer’s friend and advocate, Sir Adrian Boult, when news came through that Vaughan Williams had died.
This performance delved into the spidery textures that seem to provide a link to the afterlife itself, rather like one of Holst’s later Planets. Also evident were a series of cloudy, watery vistas, such as those found in Debussy’s Nocturnes. Manze probed deeply into the first movement, helped by the baleful colouring of three saxophones, beautifully managed by Martin Robertson, Tim Holmes and Shaun Thompson to enhance the unusual orchestral textures. The tension between the ‘home’ note of E and its immediate neighbour F was ideally weighted, the thoughtful mood tinged with a sense of foreboding.
These emotions underpinned a convincing performance, with references to earlier, angrier music from the Sixth symphony sharply noted and delivered. There were also moments of calm acceptance, as though the composer was reappraising his life with some satisfaction, the darkness held at bay by silvery strings and consoling woodwind.
The second movement, with its curious rhythmic profile, had nicely balanced syncopations, while the scherzo danced as though in an empty room, the music never quite leaving the leash on which it was held. Segueing directly to the finale, Manze’s control and passion could be felt in equal measure, a sense of resolution hard to come by but ultimately found as the music headed for its final three chords, the ‘E’ and ‘F’ finally resolving their dispute. This beautiful symphonic ending offered genuine light in the darkness, a similar sensation to Shostakovich’s final symphonic statement if seen through very different eyes.
The concert opened with the ubiquitous Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis, less elusive music perhaps but equally profound when casting its eyes back over time. This ideal concert opener speaks as loudly as it surely did in 1910, providing consolation for the fevered brow through subtle but far-reaching statements. On this occasion the performance did not quite have the ‘tingle’ factor, but it did feature beautiful string playing and finely wrought balance between the ‘choir’ of ten instruments, elevated a little at the back of the stage. Meanwhile the main orchestra could boast excellent contributions from four section principals, Pieter Schoeman and Tania Mazzetti (violins), Richard Waters (viola) and Pei-Jee Ng (cello).
The Lark Ascending holds a similarly treasured status among lovers of Vaughan Williams, remaining one of the calling cards of 20th century English music. In the right performance it creates a magical evocation of George Meredith’s lark, as it ‘drops the silver chain of sound’. Daniel Pioro played the solo part with great sensitivity and more than a little panache, choosing not to overindulge in a relatively straightforward opening sequence, but appearing to add a few extra ‘blue’ notes as the violin warmed to its characterisation, ‘lost on his aerial wings’. Manze’s pacing, initially quite fast, settled to a satisfying pace, with ideal balance between soloist and orchestra. The hall responded with commendable silence to the absolute quiet at the end.
A busy evening for Pioro included a role as soloist in the first London performance of Tom Coult’s Pleasure Garden. A four-movement concerto for violin and carefully chosen orchestra, it is effectively a compilation of four very distinct tableaus, taking its lead from constructed ‘natural spaces’ in and around congested living areas.
The first movement, Starting to rain – Zennyo Ryuo appears, found as vivid a portrayal of rain as you could wish to hear – in my mind I was checking the roof for a leak! Throughout the concerto Coult’s keen ear for orchestral colour was evident at every turn, as was his assured writing for violin, brilliantly played by Pioro. The coloristic effects were enjoyable and easy on the ear, harmonies largely consonant but never over-simplified, and the description of events in Dyeing the lake blue for Queen Victoria, Francesco Landini serenades the birds and The art of setting stones was easy to follow. The birds in particular were vividly portrayed by the soloist.
There was however a fragmented feel to the green spaces, as though they had not fully germinated, and this was exaggerated by the stopping of each movement to pause the descriptive process. When the piece did finally finish there was still an element of unfinished business, in spite of its 27-minute length. Repeated hearing would be welcome to give a more thorough appraisal and understanding, as the warm reception would suggest Coult hit the mark for the vast majority of listeners. His music has many attractive traits and he is a gifted orchestrator, so his is most definitely a space to keep under watch.
Do You Need A Release? is a highly appropriate title for our times. It is the third album from Californian band De Lux, who are principally the founding duo of Sean Guerin and Isaac Franco. However on the sessions for this album they brought their live band into the studios at Long Beach and made this set of powerful, electronically sourced pop music.
What’s the music like?
De Lux offer an invigorating album of time travelling, switching effortlessly between the past (Talking Heads, Tom Tom Club and Blancmange are all palpable influences) and the present / future. Like a poppier version of The Rapture or !!!, they hit the listener right between the eyes with a set of euphoric choruses, sharply defined electro disco and highly effective power pop.
The live aspect is important and keeps the music with a quickly beating heart. They Call This Love provides a brilliant first chorus, a sign of strength for the album lying ahead. Validation has a sharper edge, nicely realised, while Some Things Never Break mines the archive for a riff that could easily have been transported in from a Telex record. The punchy guitars are a great complement here.
On And On (Till The End Of Us) has a strutting beat and a strong chorus (going on and on and on!) while by contrast The Final Breath You Take is a poignant and understated number, and rather moving with it.
Does it all work?
It does indeed – a really strong set of grooves and sentiments for our times. The only slight problem is one of length, with some tracks fulfilling a 12″ structure – but if you’re happy with that, there really are no problems.
Is it recommended?
Yes, and especially if you like any of the names mentioned above. If you do need a release, you know exactly what you should do!
Arcana.fm 