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Baars-Henneman Duo The
Material of Memory
What is behind the 'concept,'
then, that informs such
spontaneous action? It must be
something that did not previously
exist, at least not in a form,
shape, or context that we easily
recognize, otherwise there is no
surprise, no sense of creative
accomplishment. But neither does
improvisation take place in a
presumed vacuum of 'originality.'
Premeditated is not the same as
predetermined; it is a matter of
degree, like the variations
between the different drip
paintings of Jackson Pollock, say,
or the effects of sunlight on
Monet?s haystacks. The results
are not apparent until the action
is concluded, and we have the
object (or the experience) to
value. The unfolding action, in
its spontaneity, may ultimately
shape the results, but it requires
the concept to initiate
the action. Concepts
originate in the mind, which, as
we know, is a non-linear,
atemporal, unpredictable state of
being.
This is what the poet
Marianne Moore had in mind when
(in the original 1919 version of
?Poetry?) she expressed her
belief that real art should derive
from ?literalists of the
imagination,? an oxymoronic
collision of the known and
unknown. What we assume we know,
then, exists as memory (the
ongoing, if variable, state of our
own past personal experience), and
the unknown is what we project
will occur or set into place
ourselves. By focusing on the
creation of an experience that
combines a formalized reality
(through our individual
perspective of it) and an
amorphous state of conceptualized
ritual, Moore desired art that
presents 'imaginary gardens with
real toads in them.' This is the
Zen-like conundrum that Ab Baars
and Ig Henneman confront in Stof.
Stof is the
first-time recording of their
well-seasoned reeds/viola duo, in
this case a program of
improvisations (only two of which
incorporate some written?i.e.:
predetermined?material). It's
an uncommon instrumental
combination, all but nonexistent
in classical music history, which
means there is no repertoire to
reclaim or revise, no past to draw
upon. Improvisationally speaking,
duos almost inevitably turn to
some manner of dialogue, a dynamic
tension based on give-and-take and
closely argued interaction, using
complementary and/or contrasting
gestures, tacitly premeditated if
not arranged, to formalize their
relationship. But that?s not
what I hear in the music of Stof.
Instead, the individual pieces
seem to consist of an almost
palpable substance, as if they
were constructed objects moving
through temporary space rather
than fleeting conversations in the
moment or purely sound-generated
abstract patterns. As in a
Schwitters collage or a Tatlin
assemblage, the material with
which they are working has its own
history, adding to the layers of
implied and invented meaning.
What is the material of
music? Sound,
certainly; a literal fabric of
perceived colors, textures,
weight, density, tones. But in
order to achieve a sense of
improvisational awareness. whether
in music, business affairs or
Marianne Moore's vision of
poetry we must consider the
concept that influences how that
fabric is measured, cut, shaped.
And the music Baars and Henneman
have created here resonates with a
powerful conceptual metaphor. The
clue is in the title. This is the
way they describe it: ?In Dutch,
[Stof] has many senses, as in dust
(also the biblical dust to dust),
but it is also ?fabric or
material. The fabric or
material used for clothes. [The
album] is dedicated to Ig's
sister Eiske, who was a clothing
designer (she had her own line)
and who died last March.?
When art employs metaphors
like this, even though they may
not be predetermined, we normally
prefer to respond to the
experience as if it were
programmatic or narrative, telling
a story specific to the meaning at
hand. It?s not that simple. This
music, like the films of Stan
Brakhage (as characterized by the
cultural critic Guy Davenport),
?does not tell a story but
defines a state of mind. So
these fourteen pieces/sound
objects use states of memory as
improvisation, embodying
reflection into action. In this
way, memory is identified not as
relating specific emotions in a
storytelling mode, but as a
history of past experiences,
knowledge, technique, and craft
that is spontaneously translated
into an immediacy of form as
they find and construct the music
like a tactile object, negotiating
a flow of culture (details,
echoes, allusions, and
transformations), as opposed to an
illusory flow of time.
For example. Notice the
varied approaches Henneman's
viola finds?droning like a
medieval hurdy-gurdy in parts of
?Violetto Rossastro,? varying
bow arm pressure to affect the
rhythm and attack on 'Whirligig'
(and using intonation as a
weapon), the way in which elastic
sinews imply movement throughout
?Hisako?s Body Sway, the
Bartokian pizzicato of Castle
Walk in Herringbone Suit, the
wooden percussion of Stof -to
Eiske-. She is, of course, well
versed in the language of, say,
Berio?s Sequenza, as much
as that of Stravinsky, Bartok, or
Bach, which grounds the duo in a
uniquely flexible harmonic and
rhythmic context. Meanwhile, the
acknowledged influence of John
Carter on Baars clarinet and
Von Freeman on his tenor
saxophone, for example, are only
vague intimations here. Not since
Ben Webster, perhaps, has a reed
player used modification of the
air flow through the instrument to
such dramatic effect the puffs
of melody in Castle Walk in
Herringbone Suit or how the
shakuhachi barely coats his breath
with color in Giallo di Napoli,
the feather-light phrases of ?Violetto
Rossastro, or Sabbia's
squeals and squawks (illuminating
degrees of texture like the grain
in a piece of wood).
This may describe aspects
of their material, but does not
explain how they shape the fabric
of memory. Throughout these varied
improvisations, the two voices are
distinct, separate, but
inseparable; their parts dovetail,
rotate, evade contact, mesh.
Confusing the perception of
background and foreground (that
is, the image of hierarchical
accompaniment), both spin out
lines, either in layers or
counterpoint, which may thin out
or thicken, then splinter off into
extended melody which, in the
subtle contemplation of light and
shadow, tonal weight and
restrained intensity, call to mind
the pinpoint, nearly imperceptible
clarity of lines on an Agnes
Martin canvas. Likewise, emotion
may be nearly imperceptible, but
unavoidable as well. Stof -to
Eiske-, significantly the
longest performance, allows
clarinet and viola each an aria of
loss; as they gradually gravitate
towards the other, the mood grows
inescapably tender. But memory,
always inexact and personal,
suggests abstraction is the most
reasonable response to
increasingly complex emotions.
Perhaps what Marianne Moore
was looking for, imaginary gardens with real toad in them, is to be found in Guy Davenport's statement that True imagination makes up nothing; it is a way of
seeing the world. Likewise, such music as this, which offers us a chance to experience the material of our own memory, as
song. --Art
Lange Chicago,
August 2006 |