Tucked away near the splendid pile of Christ Church Cathedral in Dublin is the small building which contains the Contemporary Music Centre, a repository of all that is wonderful in modern Irish composing. For those of you who, like myself, are far from the capital, they have an invaluable website here, which contains both a wealth of information and a handy concert calendar. “But I’m (largely) unfamiliar with the music they recommend,” you may cry! Have no fear: the centre has also released a series of CDs which showcase the work of practically anyone who’s anyone in the ‘scene’, and can be obtained for free! Plus a small charge for postage! It’s a small price to pay! I’d never realised there were so many people I’d never heard of! (Something I am vigorously rectifying even as we speak...)
I apologise for the flippancy, but it’s a sad fact that in Ireland, with a few exceptions such as Raymond Deane, Roger Doyle, and Ian Wilson, contemporary composition is up there with contemporary dance as the art form most ignored by the general public. If you doubt this, go the section labelled ‘Irish Music’ in your local CD emporium and see if, among the many fine traditional albums and the somewhat less noble Declan Nerney or Big Tom releases [author pauses as a shudder racks his scrawny frame], any of the names of any of the composers on any of the CMC CDs can be found therein. And one of them is Gráinne Mulvey, whose piece 'Agglomeration', composed in 2007 and premiered by the Concorde ensemble, is the subject of the following appreciation. More information, and lots of examples of her music, can be found at her website here.
The piece is scored for violin, cello, accordion, clarinet and bass clarinet (handled by one performer) (the two horns, not the whole ensemble; it’s not a one-man band!), and the title means “1) the action or process of collecting in a mass; 2) a heap or cluster of usually disparate elements” (according to Webster’s online dictionary). This alone should be a key as to where Mulvey’s influences lie; the concept of masses and clusters of sound is one that I would associate with composers such as Iannis Xenakis and Gyorgy Ligeti and indeed a cursory listen to her orchestral music will show the influence of the Greek (always a plus for me, as I’m a huge fan of his violent, densely textured sonic structures). Although it starts quietly, with distant strings scratching (sounding a lot like cats fighting way off) it soon brings us on a turbulent, at times abrasive, journey, with the strings scrabbling away furiously and at times creating a wonderful sawing rhythm while the various clarinets wail hoarsely like wounded animals. But while there is a lot of abstraction here, Mulvey works in moments of remarkable melodic beauty, taking the edge off the violence and creating a powerfully emotive listening experience. While for me the sense of the title becomes apparent as you listen, for the performers build up masses of criss-crossing sound which come together and break apart in an agglomerating process, I also wonder if the piece is referencing (agglomerating?) snippets of other works and styles and combining them in odd ways – the opening is certainly very clearly evoking Ligeti – but once again I must leave more seasoned ears than mine to confirm this. I played this piece to my partner last night, and when it finishes she commented that while she doesn’t particularly like such music (her heart remains with Mozart and Mahler!) she thought that it was strong stuff: involving, imaginatively arranged, well structured, and with a sure handling of the instrumentation, pulling forth a wide variety of colours and texture from the limited palette. Or, as she put it, “this person understands how music works” (in the sense that, while anyone with the right education can construct a composition, only a certain kind of ear has an integral ability to make music). My gut instinct tells me that it’s not a great work (in the sense that 'Metastasis' or 'Le Marteau sans Maître' are) but it’s fine, satisfying music by a composer whose work I want to explore further and, in an age where we’re swamped by a unfeasibly large deluge of all kinds of music, I’d definitely listen to it again. But don’t take my (ill-chosen) word(s) for it: here’s an excerpt, along with another, more recent piece by the same composer. Enjoy!
I apologise for the flippancy, but it’s a sad fact that in Ireland, with a few exceptions such as Raymond Deane, Roger Doyle, and Ian Wilson, contemporary composition is up there with contemporary dance as the art form most ignored by the general public. If you doubt this, go the section labelled ‘Irish Music’ in your local CD emporium and see if, among the many fine traditional albums and the somewhat less noble Declan Nerney or Big Tom releases [author pauses as a shudder racks his scrawny frame], any of the names of any of the composers on any of the CMC CDs can be found therein. And one of them is Gráinne Mulvey, whose piece 'Agglomeration', composed in 2007 and premiered by the Concorde ensemble, is the subject of the following appreciation. More information, and lots of examples of her music, can be found at her website here.
The piece is scored for violin, cello, accordion, clarinet and bass clarinet (handled by one performer) (the two horns, not the whole ensemble; it’s not a one-man band!), and the title means “1) the action or process of collecting in a mass; 2) a heap or cluster of usually disparate elements” (according to Webster’s online dictionary). This alone should be a key as to where Mulvey’s influences lie; the concept of masses and clusters of sound is one that I would associate with composers such as Iannis Xenakis and Gyorgy Ligeti and indeed a cursory listen to her orchestral music will show the influence of the Greek (always a plus for me, as I’m a huge fan of his violent, densely textured sonic structures). Although it starts quietly, with distant strings scratching (sounding a lot like cats fighting way off) it soon brings us on a turbulent, at times abrasive, journey, with the strings scrabbling away furiously and at times creating a wonderful sawing rhythm while the various clarinets wail hoarsely like wounded animals. But while there is a lot of abstraction here, Mulvey works in moments of remarkable melodic beauty, taking the edge off the violence and creating a powerfully emotive listening experience. While for me the sense of the title becomes apparent as you listen, for the performers build up masses of criss-crossing sound which come together and break apart in an agglomerating process, I also wonder if the piece is referencing (agglomerating?) snippets of other works and styles and combining them in odd ways – the opening is certainly very clearly evoking Ligeti – but once again I must leave more seasoned ears than mine to confirm this. I played this piece to my partner last night, and when it finishes she commented that while she doesn’t particularly like such music (her heart remains with Mozart and Mahler!) she thought that it was strong stuff: involving, imaginatively arranged, well structured, and with a sure handling of the instrumentation, pulling forth a wide variety of colours and texture from the limited palette. Or, as she put it, “this person understands how music works” (in the sense that, while anyone with the right education can construct a composition, only a certain kind of ear has an integral ability to make music). My gut instinct tells me that it’s not a great work (in the sense that 'Metastasis' or 'Le Marteau sans Maître' are) but it’s fine, satisfying music by a composer whose work I want to explore further and, in an age where we’re swamped by a unfeasibly large deluge of all kinds of music, I’d definitely listen to it again. But don’t take my (ill-chosen) word(s) for it: here’s an excerpt, along with another, more recent piece by the same composer. Enjoy!
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