Soli e Duettini for 2 Guitars.
Mead, Andrew
C.F. Peters has recently released two compositions by Milton Babbitt,
My Ends Are My Beginnings (1978) for solo clarinetist (B[flat] clarinet
doubling bass clarinet) and Soil e Duettini (1989) for two guitars. They
are presented in handsome editions, attractive and relatively
error-free. The published scores for the most part hew closely to the
composer's notational conventions, with one notable exception. In
Babbitt's manuscripts and in most of his previously published
scores accidentals affect only those notes they immediately precede, but
here tied notes are excepted. This exception can lead the reader,
especially one familiar with the composer's other works, to
hesitate occasionally over the correct pitch, though context usually
clarifies the question. This minor difficulty aside, these are welcome
additions to the catalogue of Babbitt's available scores,
representing his work at its full fruition and maturity.
My Ends Are My Beginnings is in three large sections, the middle one
for the bass clarinet. The music's sinuous, tortuous path gradually
unfolds a four-part counterpoint of twelve-tone rows whose contributions
to any given passage are constantly varied. While a direct sense of this
counterpoint may not be immediately perceived, one becomes aware of it
much as one does the long-range polyphony underlying J. S. Bach's
compositions for solo single-voiced instruments. Players will be readily
led to such an awareness by the fact that the instrument's
registral break separates the music into two sets of pairs of braided voices; the act of playing will itself impose guides for understanding.
The work's title too provides insights into the music. As is the
case with most of Babbitt's compositions, the title refers to a
number of aspects of the piece, not the least of which is the fact that
adjoining ends of the three sections are simple transformations of each
other. The title's plurals further hint at the multiplicity of
trajectories one is invited to pursue through the music.
Rich as the pitch language is, much of the challenge in this piece
will derive from its rhythms. While in a single tempo throughout, the
composition's basic pulse stream is constantly reinterpreted
metrically, and the resulting spans are subdivided in myriad ways
producing an enormously varied rhythmical surface. Nevertheless, one is
never too far from the basic pulse, and the rich variety of rhythms
creates a complex network of association throughout the piece, which,
entangled with the pitch structure, creates a sense of musical
accumulation that spans the work's three sections. The effect is
not unlike that achieved by gifted storytellers, whose asides and
digressions are gradually revealed as part of the central tale.
Soli e Duettini for two guitars is one of three identically titled
duos composed within a short span, all dealing with the interactions of
a pair of musical conversationalists. The other two are for flute and
guitar, and violin and viola. Taken as a whole, the three works deal
with identity, similarity, and difference, not only at the obvious level
of their instrumentation, but at deeper levels of musical language as
well. Much of the drama of the guitar duo entails the differentiation,
self-assertion, and ultimate subsumption into a larger whole of the two
identical protagonists. This is not accomplished through the obvious
means of confrontational gesture but through the subtle differences and
similarities of the musical languages each instrument speaks.
As is the case with My Ends Are My Beginnings, the music derives from
the gradual unfolding of a web of contrapuntally combined twelve-tone
rows, but what is striking about the more recent work is that each
instrument has its own independent network, each derived from its own
(albeit related) twelve-tone ordering. The relationship between the two
guitars hinges on the relations between their underlying pitch
structures.
The clarinet work and the guitar duo come from two different periods
of Babbitt's compositional development, distinguished by their
treatment of their underlying webs of twelve-tone counterpoint. Despite
the considerable differences between these works, listeners unfamiliar
with this music may find them all too similar. This is not surprising,
given the distance in language and rhetoric between Babbitt's
musical world and much of both traditional and contemporary practice.
Repeated engagement with Babbitt's music, however, whets the ear
and mind to an appreciation of each of his composition's
individualities. Babbitt's music does not unfold in traditional
gestures, but its constantly changing surfaces lead the listener to an
understanding of the larger musical forces at work, whose implications
are in turn heard fractured and refracted in the music's immediate
unfolding. The interplay between the moment and the whole is the source
of his music's expressive resonance.
This is music both demanding and rewarding in its complexity to
listener and player alike. Returning to it again and again leads the
player and the listener to an appreciation of its rich fabric of
associations. This is generous music, affording repeated hearing and
playing; its complexities are honestly achieved, and one need not have
recourse to the composer's sketches or a privileged description of
his methods to divine the connections between its surfaces and the
relationships underlying its longer spans. Nor does Babbitt's music
partake only of the intellectual. This is music to be heard and played,
whose surfaces offer sensuous pleasure while inviting one into a
contemplation of its larger structures.
Babbitt's music is a most happy union of understanding and
feeling, of the intellect and the emotions, of the pleasures of the
senses and the joys of the mind. The composer has often remarked that he
wishes to write music that is as much as it can be, rather than as
little as it can get away with, and in doing so he has treated us, his
audience, as adults. These two publications allow us to continue to
enjoy his generosity.
ANDREW MEAD University of Michigan