Cabinets of curiosities, also sometimes referred to as “wonder rooms,” were small collections of extraordinary objects, strange and often fanciful precursors of today’s museums, which attempted to categorize and explain oddities of the natural world. This week on “The Lost Chord,” we’ll have three musical equivalents.
Princeton University professor Dmitri Tymoczko’s “Typecase Treasury” recalls a small table his parents acquired, made from a typecase subdivided into a hundred little compartments. “Each had been filled with a tiny mineralogical curiosity,” he writes, “a strange crystal, a piece of iron pyrite, a shark’s tooth, or a fossilized tribolyte.” He found it a useful metaphor for a multi-movement collection of short pieces, in which he attempts to produce “a sense of form through juxtaposition.”
Grammy Award-winner Michael Colina is perhaps best known for his jazz and Latin projects. However, Colina was classically trained, having studied at the North Carolina School of the Arts, and then abroad, at the Chigiana Academy, in Sienna, Italy. We’ll hear his Violin Concerto, subtitled “Three Cabinets of Wonder,” a work inspired by Fanny Mendelssohn, the Buddha, and an Amazonian nature spirit.
Finally, we’ll sample just a bit from “Cabinet of Curiosities” by Philadelphia-based composer Robert Moran, who’s something of a wonder himself. “The Hapsburg Kunstkammer” employs graphic notation and is scored for marimba, hairbrush, aluminum foil, bells played with fingers, finger cymbals, telephone bell, vibraphone, rubber ball, celesta and harpsichord.
I hope you’ll join me for “Curiouser and Curiouser,” a tour of musical wonder cabinets, on “The Lost Chord,” now in syndication on KWAX Classical Oregon!
A work for amplified Volkswagen, played with flashlights. An opera for eleven dogs. A piano piece in which the performer crawls inside the lid and lets the piano play him.
Move over, Till Eulenspiegel. Today is the birthday of Robert Moran.
Moran, who’s made his home in Philadelphia for more than 40 years, is contemporary music’s merry prankster.
Following studies in Vienna with Hans Erich Apostel, with whom he “learned to count to twelve” (as in twelve-tone music), Moran attended Mills College, where his teachers were Darius Milhaud and Luciano Berio. His classmates at Mills included Steve Reich, Phil Lesh, and Tom Constanten. Lesh and Constanten went on to play for The Grateful Dead. I wonder what ever happened to Reich?
While there, Moran became involved with the whole San Francisco scene. He gained notoriety in the late 1960s and early ‘70s through a series of performance pieces incorporating entire cities, including San Francisco, Bethlehem, PA, and Graz, Austria. These involved tens of thousands of performers.
His many stage works include “Desert of Roses” (after Beauty and the Beast), written for Houston Grand Opera, and “Alice” (after “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”), composed for the Scottish Ballet. Maurice Sendak introduced him to the Grimm fairy tale “The Juniper Tree,” which became an operatic collaboration with Philip Glass.
For the occasion of the tenth anniversary of the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center, Moran was commissioned to write a work for the youth chorus of Trinity Wall Street, the so-called “Ground Zero” church in Lower Manhattan. “Trinity Requiem,” scored for children’s chorus, four cellos, harp and organ, offers a similar brand of solace to that conjured in the 19th century masterwork by Gabriel Fauré.
With Moran, you never know what you’re going to get. In his more puckish moments, he might write for harpsichord and electric frying pan. But then there are times when his natural gift for lyricism will melt your heart. Whether he’s writing for Houston Grand Opera, 39 autos, giant puppets, or electric popcorn popper, his music is always vital and worth getting to know.
Happy birthday, Bob!
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An aria from “Desert of Roses”
“Trinity Requiem” (its movements posted into a continuous YouTube playlist)
Flying high over Albania
“Obrigado” for Iowa Percussion
“Bank of America Chandelier”
Experimenting with spatial effects in “Solenga”
“Alice” for Scottish Ballet
Looking groovy and introducing his “Lunchbag Opera” for the BBC
“Buddha Goes to Bayreuth”
“Modern Love Waltz” by Philip Glass, arranged by Robert Moran for accordion and cello
Today is the birthday of my good friend and steadfast companion for Mahler concerts at the Philadelphia Orchestra, composer Robert Moran. A pupil of Darius Milhaud, Luciano Berio, and Hans Erich Apostel, Bob’s experimented with all kinds music, from city-encompassing performance art “happenings,” to collaborations with Philip Glass, to commissions from Houston Grand Opera, Scottish Ballet, and Trinity Wall Street. Throughout his career, he’s often been fascinated by spatial effects in music. This is one of his more recent works, “Solenga,” from 2023:
Bob, if you see this, I’ve been trying to contact you. My computer died the other week and my email account is now over the storage limit, so I can’t write. I’ve been trying to phone, but of course you don’t have voice mail. (Come to think of it, neither do I!) But you can call me, text, or private message me on Facebook, if you are so moved. There’s a dinner invitation in it for you. Happy birthday!
An aria from Bob’s Beauty and the Beast opera, “Desert of Roses”
Selections from “Trinity Requiem,” for the tenth anniversary of 9/11
Flying high over Albania
“Alice” for Scottish Ballet
Looking groovy and introducing his “Lunchbag Opera” for the BBC
“Buddha Goes to Bayreuth,” Part 1
“Buddha Goes to Bayreuth,” Part 2
“Modern Love Waltz” by Philip Glass, arranged by Robert Moran for accordion and cello
In common with just about everyone else in this country who lived through it, for the past 23 years, I have awoken on this morning to the enormity of 9/11. And every year I dig deep and try to rise to the challenge of writing something meaningful. And you know me. Once I start typing, my fingers are like long-distance runners.
This year, I am sorry to say, the needs of the present intrude. With multiple projects I am being relied on to complete or prepare, I am unable to devote as much time to reflection on these matters as I would like. But briefly…
I am thankful that, even though I know people who were there, or nearly there, at Ground Zero, and as someone who had family in the air as the horrors in New York, Pennsylvania, and D.C. unfolded, that I didn’t lose anyone in the attacks or their aftermath. But none of us who lived through 9/11 emerged unscathed.
Today, honor the memory of those who perished and spare a thought for those who continue to suffer loss, chronic ill-health, or PTSD. Be extra mindful of being kind. Even on the morning after the presidential debate. Remember we’re all Americans. And we’re all human beings. Just because someone disagrees with you doesn’t mean he or she is your enemy.
Also, seek beauty in the world. Be reminded of the positive and even uplifting things we are all capable of, to a greater or lesser extent. We can’t all write symphonies, but some of us can. Others can help a stranger change a tire. It’s happened to me, and I have paid it forward.
Most of all, count your blessings and try to live with appreciation. It’s easy to say, and even trite, but every day is a miracle.
We all come with our own vulnerabilities and our own struggles. Most of us fail to live up to our ideals. But we can want to be better and try to facilitate that in burying our spiteful impulses and in behaving constructively, even if it’s to make only one person feel better. A smile or a wave of recognition could make a difference to somebody.
It’s hard to fathom the kind of psychological state or extreme ideology that could drive anyone to willingly kill and terrorize innocent bystanders, no matter what the rationale. But the impulses that create monsters are dormant in all of us. It’s up to each us to harness that power and to turn it to positive ends.
Dona nobis pacem. Pax in terra.
Selections from Robert Moran’s “Trinity Requiem,” composed for Trinity Church, the “Ground Zero church” in lower Manhattan, to mark the tenth anniversary of the attacks:
I first encountered Robert Moran’s music while browsing through the bins at Tower Records Classical Annex, then located at 6th & South Streets in Philadelphia. As was the custom, new recordings would be played over the sound system on the sales floor. On this particular occasion, one of the clerks put on “Arias, Interludes and Inventions,” a suite from the opera “Desert of Roses,” Bob’s take on the Beauty and the Beast fairy tale, premiered at Houston Grand Opera in 1992. Before I was wholly aware of what was happening, my heart had melted all over the polished hardwood floor. I floated to the counter to inquire what it was we were listening to, and an instant sale was made.
I first encountered Robert Moran in person a few years later, when he wandered into my original bookshop on South 17th Street. I didn’t recognize who he was until he handed me his credit card. “Robert Moran?” I said. “Any relation to the composer?” That kind of question has led to its share of enduring friendships. It turns out people like being recognized. (The exception was a certain principal of the Philadelphia Orchestra, who slinked out as soon as he could, never to return again!)
Although a small business owner, with all of the nightmarish zoning and tax obligations that entailed, I was also still very much a bohemian, with my living space extending off the back of the building, all German Expressionist-like, at the end of a long, crooked hallway, separated from the sales floor only by a magic curtain. On certain winter afternoons, you could smell the crock pot percolating in the kitchenette, not far from a mass of black mold that had formed around one of the many leaks in the stucco ceiling. (No stucco in the immaculately redone retail space.)
My record collection, already substantial, was rather modest by comparison to today’s library (which continues to expand with a tenacity any mold would envy). I laid my hand on Bob’s CD and was back in a flash.
He took the booklet and inscribed in his florid hand:
For Ross –
What a lovely
Surprise!! Wonderful
Luck – your
splendid Bookstore –
Robert Moran
Oct. 15, 1997
Phila
Bob gained notoriety in the late 1960s and early ‘70s through a series of “events” incorporating, respectively, the cities of San Francisco (“39 Minutes for 39 Autos”), Bethlehem, PA (“Hallelujah”), and Graz, Austria (“Pachelbel Promenade”). These involved tens of thousands of performers.
For “39 minutes for 39 Autos,” he enlisted skyscrapers, airplanes, radio stations, musicians, dancers, and yes, automobiles, to create a one-of-a-kind, purely-of-the-moment spectacular of light and sound. Sooner or later, such a thing was bound to occur to a composer living in San Francisco in 1969.
But he actually could could write music, too. Classical music’s merry prankster studied twelve-tone technique with Hans Erich Apostel in Vienna, before being accepted into a composition class of four at Mills College, where he was taught by Darius Milhaud and Luciano Berio. His classmates included Steve Reich, Phil Lesh, and Tom Constanten. Lesh and Constanten went on to play for The Grateful Dead. And Reich? Who knows what happened to that guy.
Bob was also influenced by Minimalism and became a friend and collaborator of Philip Glass. (On my wall is a signed poster for their collaborative opera “The Juniper Tree.”)
Last year, he composed a monodrama for God – yes, you read that correctly (in case you’re interested, God is a baritone) – and a 20-minute choral work, “Circles of Iron.”
He continues to experiment with aleatory, or chance elements. With Robert Moran, you never know what you’re going to get. In his more puckish moments, he might write for 39 autos, giant puppets, or an electric popcorn popper. But then there are times when his natural gift for lyricism will melt your heart.
Happy birthday, Bob! Let Bob eat cake!
Lo and behold, Robert Moran is the subject of today’s Composers Datebook, broadcast on classical music stations nationwide. Listen here.
