 There’s some music that you need to spend time with before it makes sense, or before it sounds right. For whatever reason, there’s something about it that you need to get past or overlook, something that puts a barrier between yourself and full acceptance of what the artist is trying to say. For example, I think of Joanna Newsom. Even people who love her work—and I’m one of them—will usually admit that there’s something about her voice and songwriting that can be off-putting at first. That doesn’t mean it’s bad music, just that it may require more than one listen to sink in. The question is, is it worth your time? Is it good enough that you don’t begrudge the extra time and effort it asks of you?
For modern listeners approaching Wendy Carlos and 1968’s Switched-On Bach, the first barrier that they will encounter is the sound of the recording itself—that is, the sound of the instrument(s) being used. Even if the notes themselves sound familiar and even beautiful, the tones used will likely sound odd, unmusical, and—I hate to use the term—dated. This is because, while it wasn’t the first album to use synthesizers, Switched-On Bach was one of the first to stretch the capabilities of the synthesizer to such a degree. It’s a landmark, no doubt, and it’s undeniably historically significant, but does that make it good music? A little context: The first commercial synthesizer, the Moog (pronounced mohg), debuted in 1964. While it represented a huge technical feat for its inventor, Robert Moog, it was an extremely primitive instrument. Only one note could be played at a time, and tuning was, to put it kindly, variable. The main technical advance that took place over the four years between the Moog’s release and the debut of Switched-On Bach was the prototype of a touch-sensitive keyboard. In other words, Switched-On Bach was made with an instrument that could barely stay in tune and still required each note to be played one-at-a-time. There are (at least) two marvels about Switched-On Bach. The first is that it got made at all in spite of the struggles and limitations involved; the second is that none of these challenges comes through in the final product. This is joyful, buoyant music, and more than that, it is phenomenally well-played. Bach’s music requires a level of precision and clarity, and especially in the more complicated pieces, it’s critical that each line stand on its own. Switched-On Bach possesses all these traits, and so much more. Simply stated, I don’t know how they even kept the synthesizer in tune; the fact that the music is all played and interpreted so masterfully makes it nearly miraculous. I think other artists have played Bach as well as Wendy Carlos does here, but I honestly can’t think of any that have done it better. Just so there’s no doubt: I adore this music. Except for the earlier version of the second movement of Brandenburg Concerto #3, which was wisely replaced in subsequent releases, every track here is an absolute triumph, a showcase both for the synthesizer itself and the endless beauty and virtuosity that is the music of Johann Sebastian Bach. Which begs the question: Would Switched-On Bach work as well if it wasn’t Bach’s music that was “switched on”? Carlos would eventually explore this in the follow-up, The Well-Tempered Synthesizer, and not to give away too much about a potentially upcoming review, but the answer is yes, for the most part. I think Baroque-era music is particularly well-suited to this type of transcription—I’m not sure if a similar take on the music of Beethoven would work nearly as well—but Carlos is such a thoughtful musician that I’d be open to hearing her try. Two caveats: Carlos released a fully re-mastered version of Switched-On Bach as part of the 1999 Switched-On Box Set, and while I can’t do a side-by-side comparison between it and the original vinyl, I can’t imagine this music sounding better. If you find the box set, please, do yourself a favor and get it, both for the music and incredible (and incredibly detailed) liner notes that accompany it. On the other hand, there’s also a recording floating around called Switched-On Bach 2000, on which Carlos re-recorded the same music using modern (at least, modern in 2000) technology. In one sense, the 2000 version is remarkable for using something other than equal temperament, although the claim that it uses “Authentic Bach Tunings” feels kind of disingenuous. But ultimately, it feels like an exercise in futility, not entirely unlike the shot-for-shot remake of Psycho. More than anything, Switched-On Bach 2000 shows us what was so special about the original, and makes it clear that trying to recapture it is, at best, something of a fool’s errand. It’s not a complete misfire, but it’s far from the classic that is the original Switched-On Bach. (Carlos was, however, able to recapture the magic of the original in the subsequent follow-ups: The Well-Tempered Synthesizer, Switched-On Bach II, and Switched-On Brandenburgs—all recorded using the Moog. While not as well-known as Switched-On Bach, there isn’t a weak track in the bunch—yet another reason to pick up the Switched-On Box Set if you can.) But I digress: Switched-On Bach may be a recording that requires more than one listen, but speaking as one who has very much gotten on its wavelength, I think it’s an absolute masterpiece—not just one of the most significant recordings of the century, but one of the finest interpretations of Bach’s music that has ever been made. I can’t recommend it highly enough.
0 Comments
Three Rivers Trios, the new CD from Cythia Koledo DeAlmeida, William Caballero, and Rodrigo Ojeda—the principal oboe, horn, and pianist of the Pittsburgh Symphony, is now available from Crystal Records. In addition to a lovely Mozart transcription and a newly commissioned work by Eric Ewazen, it features my Scenes from Lake Chautauqua, which was written for the trio. Read more about it here.   I recently led an orchestration seminar at Durham University, and the piece I began with was Claude Debussy’s Prélude to the Afternoon of a Faun. If you don’t know the piece or haven’t listened to it in some time, please do yourself a favour and seek it out. It’s incredibly beautiful music, more sturdily constructed than it may seem to be on first listen, and it’s full of orchestral colour. Debussy was one of the great orchestrators, able to pull a stunning array of timbres out of a group of instruments, and always in the service of a greater compositional vision. He was a true original.
But Debussy didn’t just write for orchestra. He also wrote some wonderful chamber works, including a string quartet and a stunning piece for solo flute, and an impressive body of solo piano music. His Préludes for piano are a masterwork, full of imagination and creative genius, and there are numerous recordings available. (My favourite is by the late Paul Jacobs.) Again, do yourself a favour and seek them out. Here’s my point: Debussy could have written his Préludes for orchestra, but he chose not to. He certainly had the technique and imagination to turn them into a set of orchestral pieces, full of the instrumental colour that he was a master at, but he decided to write them for piano. For whatever reason, he felt the piano, not the orchestra, was the best way to express what he was going for with these pieces. And yet, several composers and orchestrators have seen fit to adapt Debussy’s Préludes for orchestra. I’m only familiar with this version, orchestrated by Peter Breiner, and performed by the Royal Scottish National Orchestra under the baton of Jun Märkl. If it’s possible, the end result is both impressive and unnecessary, showing that Breiner is very capable of orchestrating music that never needed to be played by an orchestra. The funny thing is that this is a fine recording, and I recommend it—sort of. The orchestra sounds very good, and the music is lovely. Peter Breiner’s orchestrations are generally quite good, and they avoid sounding overly ‘blocky’—the curse of orchestrating piano music—while perhaps being overly reliant on certain sonorities. But you know what? I just did a side-by-side comparison between recordings of one of the greatest and most famous of the Préludes, “La cathédrale engloutie”, or “The Sunken Cathedral”. Compared to the piano rendition (by the aforementioned Paul Jacobs), the orchestral version sounds curiously stilted and muted, never quite achieving the extremes of subtlety and grandeur that is called for. Details get lost in the orchestral textures, and the whole thing comes off as being kind of lifeless. Some of the orchestrations certainly work better than others, but there isn’t a single one that I’d recommend over, or even compare all that favourably to, the original. I don’t blame Breiner, the orchestra, or the conductor. I blame the project as a whole. It’s probably as good as it could have been, but the problem is that it never had to be. |
AuthorChris Massa is a US-born musician based in Durham, England. You are on his site right now. Archives
June 2024
Categories
All
|
RSS Feed
|
Copyright © Christian David Massa
|