Earl Kim: Scenes from a Movie, Part 1 "The Seventh Dream"
The “program” of The Seventh Dream consists of lines taken from various poems of Apollinaire and material from the Dream-Book of Rilke. Together they forma kind of “scenario” which corresponds to the sequence of music events. Although the text of the Apollinaire does not appear in the piece, it helped suggest the cuts, flashbacks, slow motion and fades that are some of the cinematic techniques used to encourage a visualization of the narrative. Unlike Schoenverg’s music for a non-existent movie, the music of The Seventh Dream is the movie.
The two figures in the dream sequence are both narrator and the characters being described in the narration. The “action” consists of small gestures - slight turning o the head - an almost imperceptible smile - efforts to waken - none of which are actually carried out.
The “story” of the piece begins with a journey and ends with a memory “through the mist pass two grey silhouettes.” (Appolinaire) Perhaps they are the two figures in Rilke’s dream, perhaps they are lovers, perhaps they are the two unseen passengers in the carriage making the journey in the story’s beginning.
The Seventh Dream was commissioned by Frank E. Taplin.
— EK
Fernanda Aoki Navarro: Impermanence
I. MestiçaAs a child growing up in Brazil, it took me a while to fully understand why people would call me and categorize me as “Mestiça”. As time passed, I understood not only the semantics of the term, but also its social implications: I wasn’t considered Brazilian enough nor Japanese enough, even though I was born and raised in Brazil. The Japanese have a similar term, “hafu”, adapted from English: half. This idea of being “half”, too Brazilian for the Asians and too Asian for the Brazilians, permeated my perception of belonging: neither from here, nor form there. I was 6 years old when I heard one of the most remarkable questions of my life. A girl my age asked me: “do you see the way I do, or do you see everything like this?” [she put both index fingers at the outer corner of her eyelids and pulled them outwards, showing me how my eyes looked like to her eyes]. I stood at the same spot for a long time after she laughed at me and ran away to play with the other kids. I remember listening to my knees squeaking, tired of supporting my stillness, of waiting for my brain to satisfactorily answer that question. It never occurred to me, until that very moment, that people would see the world differently; I had no way to prove to her how I see and I had no way to see with her eyes. I asked my mom: “do people see the world the same way? do I see the world like this?” [I pulled my eyelids and saw a distorted mom]. Her almond shaped eyes dropped a tear and no answer came out of her mouth. It was also around that age when I first learned a piece that used only the black keys of the piano (“The Rickshaw Man”, a rather stereotypical “oriental” pentatonic piece for children, composed by a white man who probably didn’t see the borderline racist nature of his work). Mestiça combines simple fingering patterns used in children’s piano music, interleaved with the difference, clash and mutual assimilation of the “black keys” and the “white keys” of the piano.
II. Uprooted
The main inspiration for Uprooted was the feeling of not belonging: not belonging to the place of departure (a home country, for example) and not fully belonging to the place of arrival either. Another important component is the idea of journey and impermanency – the joy and angst caused by this “to-from” trajectory. This piece is intended to sound as if sound waves were adrift, uprooted, as if lost in oceanic waves, sometimes calm, sometimes violent. I wanted to explore and elicit the delicate physicality of microtonal beating patterns, to highlight the friction and richness of contrasting notes working together. Uprooted was conceived as a semi-improvised structure in order to increase gestural flexibility, to facilitate simultaneity of different rhythmic patterns that don’t share the same beat or the same metronome marks, and to use sonic (but non-verbal) communication between the performers. Every iteration of this movement should sound slightly different. Although there is a lot of room for improvisation, there are components that should be followed strictly: the instruments used; the duration of each section; the physical trajectory of the performers in the hall; the overall sonic environment. Movement is one of the most important aspects of this piece. I wanted to make visual the idea of sound in movement, and make sonic the idea of bodies in movement.
III. Permanent alien (and native friends)
It’s been eight years since I became an alien. In 2011, when I moved to the United States, I learned that I was an alien – more specifically, a resident alien for taxes purposes (that’s how foreigners who pay taxes in the US are identified). I tried to take the breaking news with lightness – which isn’t my strongest characteristic. Although I felt alienated by bureaucratic processes, my American friends and most of my American colleagues made me feel welcomed. We learned about idiosyncrasies regarding our cultural backgrounds, we learned how to overwrite harmful stereotypes, we learned about similarities and differences between our countries and we learned how the idea of “the other” was more of a construct than a reality. However, I never got over the fact that I had to sonically “deface” my name in order to make my name understood in the US. When I said my name with my Brazilian accent, people would never get it.
So, I started saying “it’s Fer-nan-da, like the ABBA song (but the feminine version)”. Those who did not know the song would keep looking at me with a blank face, those who knew the song would usually laugh. Latinx knew exactly what I was talking about, regardless of their awareness of that pop tune.
My grandfather was a Fernando. My progenitor is a Fernando. And as praxis in Brazil, the oldest son of a couple should carry on the tradition and perpetuate the all-so-often violent patriarchy. But oops… it’s a girl!
BIO:
Fernanda Aoki Navarro is a musician born in Sao Paulo, Brazil, based in Boston. She is a composer of acoustic and electroacoustic music, creates intermedia works, performance art, and installations. She is interested in sound, the idiosyncratic relationship between the corporeality of the performers and the physicality of their instruments, the exploration between music and language, and the transformational power that experimental music can exert on issues related to feminism and social otherness.
She earned a BA in Music Composition from Universidade de São Paulo, a Masters degree from UC Santa Cruz and a PhD from UC San Diego. She's currently a fellow at the Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study at Harvard University.
Fernanda doesn't know how to dance samba, procrastinates to write program notes, doesn't know how to react when someone makes a compliment or a critique, goes to the cinema every week, drinks coffee everyday.
Andrés Carrizo: Voces
Voces for solo clarinet was written for Gleb Kanasevich. My first foray into composing for a solo wind instrument, the piece emerged out of a contrapuntal idea, superimposing a slowly descending melody consisting of pitches that are simultaneously sung and played over a harmonic framework, outlined by rapid, sharply attacked notes in different registers. I owe Gleb an enormous debt: over the piece's gestation, Gleb patiently suggested improvements, coached me on the clarinet's difficulties and resources, and essentially helped me shape the piece into the work it has become.
BIO:
The son of a professional jazz musician, Andrés Carrizo grew up in Panama City, Panama during the 1980s. A raucous place and time, redolent of sonic palimpsests, a multiplicity of musical styles from Salsa to Stravinsky found themselves reconciled within Andrés's musical personality. After studying in Williams College, the University of Chicago, and with composer Gerardo Gandini in Argentina, Andrés is currently a freelance composer and producer. He has served as Panama's Cultural Attaché to Israel, and has spearheaded a number of festivals and ensembles. Andrés's music is published by Cayambis Music Press.