Pushing the Boundaries of Chamber Music

The not-for-profit chamber music venue Emerald City Music (ECM) delivered a thoughtful retrospection on the oldest instrument in human history, the flute. This concert, curated by Artistic Director Kristin Lee and flutist Sungwoo Kim, was a part of their EVOLUTION series, including examinations of the cello, piano, and improvisation. Furthermore, this series seeks to critically present the history of various instruments and contrast the old and new ends of their repertoire. 

This is highly characteristic of the organization. ECM often takes a particularly creative hand in curating its program, juxtaposing genres, cultures, and time periods with one another to engage listeners more critically. Examples of this unique approach include their concert "Inspired by Gamelan," which featured a suite of modern classical compositions that draw from the distinct sound of the Indonesian classical musical practice. 

Whether hopping between centuries or combining film and music, ECM consistently pushes the boundaries of chamber music, and Evolution of Flute is no exception. 

After a short introduction, the concert began with a flute sonata in A minor by C. P. E. Bach. This piece was performed by Joshua Romatowski on the traverso flute, or Baroque flute, a wooden instrument that predates the modern flute and lacks keys, making it particularly difficult to play in tune. Considered one of the most important works for solo flute before the 20th century, this piece sat squarely in the transitional space between the Baroque and pre-classical eras. C.P.E. Bach bridges these styles by exploring techniques prominent in the gallant style, including extended silences, sentimental harmony, and gradual melodic development. But even through this exploration, he maintains the sentiment of his father's Baroque, contrapuntal style by implying a three-voice polyphonic texture with a single instrument in the first movement. 

Personally unfamiliar with much solo flute music, I found this piece to be a warm welcome to the instrument, despite the work's puzzling characteristics. In a linear fashion, the next piece introduced the lovable Piccolo through a duet composed by C.P.E. Bach’s brother, Wilhelm Friedemann Bach. 

This piece was an exciting glance into the potential of the unassuming piccolo. The first movement, which was far more certain and driving than the earlier piece, had me stumped in regard to its rhythm. In hindsight, it was a deceptive 3/4 meter with quarter note triplets. However, at the time of listening, I found myself feeling these triplets more as eighth notes in a 4/4 time signature, which means there are four beats to a bar, and the quarter note gets the beat. But, a few measures later, when the deceptive triple phrase gives way to steady sixteenth notes, I was left counting a four against three polyrhythm. I found this unexpected confusion to be a highlight of the piece, although there were many. In terms of the instrument, I thought the shrill tone of the piccolo would grow annoying or hollow without accompaniment, but I found that the interaction of the two perfectly in-tune voices was far deeper than I imagined. It sounded akin to the overtone-rich voice of an organ, evoking a rich, powerful, and unexpectedly deep sound that I had not heard before. The performers were so unbelievably in sync that it sounded like a single instrument. 

The comfort of these older pieces was short-lived, though, as the “evolution” part of the concert came into play. The next piece was an atonal wrecking ball: Luciano Berio’s Sequenza I, composed in 1958. Typical in experimental music of the 20th century, this piece was a virtuosic yet frivolous hodgepodge of extended techniques and harmonies that seemed unconcerned with conforming to expectations. I found it to be rather shocking in the context of the concert, but it was also inspiring in its own, unusual way. Frantic in its writing, I was unable to tell if this piece had the timbre of a wounded animal or a stalking predator. Its disjointed leaps and percussive phrases were set starkly against the shrill high notes and breathy runs that jolted me from my seat. At times, it was comedic, and at others, it was terrifying, like an attack. I found this piece, more than anything, to be interesting. I’m not sure if that is a good or a bad thing, though. 

For the rest of the night, the size of the flute ensemble grew from 2 to 4, taking partial breaks to return to a soloist. It explored a high-classical trio piece, the foreboding impressionist writing of Debussy, ending with a melancholy yet deeply sentimental flute quartet by the French master of woodwind chamber music, Eugène Bozza. 

Every moment of music in this concert was of the utmost quality and proficiency. However, the most intriguing and memorable part of an ECM concert is not any one piece or passage, but the program as a whole. I always expect to leave with a refined idea to ponder. Their concerts have a highly narrative and critical edge to them, which was best demonstrated in their multimedia presentation, Mother, which blended music and film into one complex night of broad musing. But, part of me has always wished they would invest fully in this narrative quality. Evolution of Flute could have delved far further into its concept and been dedicated to its intent, without stagnating. One could say that leaning further into the narrative elements of the program would take the emphasis away from the music itself and make it more of a historical presentation than an average concert. In other words, it could become a mere gimmick. But I disagree. The idea of these evolution concerts, which explore the history of an instrument, is ripe for experimentation and innovation; yet, the expectations of classical programming constrain them. Being one of the oldest and most diverse instruments in our history, ECM could have started at the very inception of the instrument. This was teased by the cover of the program, which showed a diagram of flutes starting with one made of bone and ending with a modern flute. Perhaps it would be impractical or silly to include music performed on a bone flute. I can almost feel the embarrassment of asking a classically trained flutist to play music that was never written or recorded on an instrument with no established technique or repertoire. But this kind of experimentation is exactly why I love ECM so much. These bold and unexpected moves question the norms of the classical tradition. 

There was also a missed opportunity in that they had a flute technician and expert present to discuss the instrument and its history, but never incorporated his knowledge into the program itself. I wished they had included some kind of historical element in the concert itself, such as a brief introduction to its earlier forms or an examination of its technology. They had an expert on hand, but it felt like they didn’t utilize his knowledge. 

Much like other ECM concerts I have reviewed, Evolution of Flute was a world-class display of instrumental prowess, with a fun, narrative flare thrown in, that I feel could have been just a bit brighter. But I’d rather celebrate what Evolution of Flute was than what it could have been. 

Lead photo: Evolution of Flute, courtesty of Emerald City Music.

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