Two essays – published in German October 2023
» Paul Griffiths | » John Link
Wunsch-Konzert, 15. Oktober, 2033
Under the heading ‘… amúgy játszunk’, a memorial concert is about to begin in the main auditorium of the Karl Marx World Arts Center, Beijing. A whole section of the audience space has been reserved for the composers whose music will be played. Helmut Lachenmann, nearing the age of ninety-eight, is probably the oldest present. Others of his generation are represented by sheets of glass placed on their seats, showing them, by way of the worldwide mirror web, at home and waiting now, as we are, for the event to start.
Nobody knows how long it will go on. The hundred and six composers invited to contribute were asked to each send something for a solo performer lasting precisely a hundred and six seconds, for it was at the age of a hundred and six—indeed, on his hundred and sixth birthday—that György Kurtág had left this world. The planners have also built into the schedule breaks of a hundred and six seconds between pieces, again precisely, the audience being asked to maintain strict silence during these breaks. There will be no other intervals.
The original expectation, therefore, was that the concert would run for six hours, twelve minutes and forty-six seconds. However, there are composers who, though not among those invited, have sent in pieces to the organising committee, who, so it is said, have accepted any that fulfilled the requirement of playing for a hundred and six seconds precisely. This much was generally known, but nobody knew—perhaps not even the committee members themselves—just how many of these items have been added to the schedule. In the new post-2031 world, the imperatives of equality and those of discernment are still fighting it out.
There is some unease in the audience as it begins to take its seats, along with the inevitable excitement aroused by the prospect of encountering new pieces by—besides Lachenmann—Rendão, Vascos, Naidoo, Saunders, Shchelmikova, Li, Lang (but which one?), Avoka, Momitsu, Balogh, Lubako, Giuranti, Reiss, Reich, and so many more, Everyone in the audience, chosen at random, is aware of the responsibility they have taken on, to remember as much as they can of this extraordinary event and convey it back to people around the world waiting in their streets and villages. Since the abandonment of electronic devices, powers of memory have notably sharpened generally.
Nobody knows what to expect. The programme gives the composers’ names, but these do not indicate too much. Many of them stand for consortia, whose members will be involved to varying extents (if at all) in any particular project. There is also the practice whereby a composer will write something in the manner of another composer and issue the piece under his or her name. Even where the piece is indeed written by the person stated, nothing, of course, may be assumed, since the new aesthetic dispensation has proved for all artists not a restriction but an embrace, enabling them to find possibilities they had not anticipated.
One name, though, is missing. Isabelle Faust comes on to the platform to widespread expressions of surprise and strong approval, which then give way to sprinklings of laughter and applause as she begins to play a favourite piece by the late master being honoured.
Of course. This is how it has to begin.
Paul Griffiths
Back to the Future
One way to imagine a concert in 2033 is to remember what we imagined ten years ago about a concert today. Oddly enough, concert life in 2023, as we emerge from the COVID pandemic, is beginning to seem a lot like it did in 2013. There is a wider range of venues now, to compliment a dizzying blur of styles, but even with all of our new technologies we still hear pianos and violins and trombones and clarinets sounding better than ever, and in spite of Zoom and streaming, the desire to be physically present where the music is being made has survived the pandemic stronger than ever. In our darkest hours I’m not sure we believed it would, but it turns out that we thrive in each other’s company. How could we ever have doubted it?
We hear from a more diverse array of voices now, as the field belatedly realizes how many striking pieces by talented (but not white and male) composers were not so much rejected as never considered for a place on the program. We are paying better attention now to whom we pay attention (and why!) and that is all to the good. Yet we should be circumspect about our virtuousness. When a (white, male) interviewer lamented having to speak of “a black writer” or “a woman writer” instead of just “a writer,” Toni Morrison reminded him “You brought it up.”
Unfortunately the welcome diversification of concert music has come at a time when its social value, and consequently its public support, is in steep decline. Music is patronage art and producing it – for an audience anyway – requires access to capital. Now that the aristocrats of capitalism have abandoned even the pretense of noblesse oblige, and the political right has embraced a particularly cynical and dangerous brand of anti-intellectualism, the only funding model left standing (or maybe teetering) is music as a consumer product. It has its advantages. For those blessed with charisma as well as talent there are audiences to be found, and in a democratic society, why shouldn’t the circulation of art, like policy, be subject to debate in the public square? But, as we’ve rediscovered all too impetuously in the last decade, snake oil can be sold on the open market as readily and as profitably as good medicine, and the social value of music is always difficult to measure, even if somehow we can agree on what constitutes a quality product.
Plato worried about music’s power to change society. It gets into the souls of young people and young people like to stir things up, especially when their provocations cause consternation among the ranks of the formerly young. As the formerly young Elliott Carter said at the tender age of 101, “Things change, and it’s a good thing too!” How would Carter, who died in 2012, have anticipated 2033 (or 2023 for that matter)? I have no idea. But he believed in music as a force for social cohesion and when it came to supporting it, he put his money where his mouth was in more ways than one. I think it’s a safe bet that he would have been optimistic.
Although I have many apprehensions about the future of humanity, I have none whatsoever about the future of music. If we can survive, it will survive. What I look forward to most in 2033 (beyond living to see it!) is a new generation of composers, performers, and listeners who recognize that music’s possibilities are not bound by the values of the moment, however noble they may seem. Music is hard on purists. At its best it takes what we thought were our most firmly held beliefs and turns them sideways. As composers we should be wary of holding on too firmly. We have to be brave enough to take risks (and do so in public) yet humble enough to take advantage of the footholds that the shoulders of giants provide. And if we are honest, we will admit that when we are alone in our studios, with the dead looking over our shoulders, no amount of entrepreneurship can help us answer the only questions that really matter.
John Link
composer and writer
April, 2023