Near the end of last month Hyperion Records released its latest solo album of harpsichordist Mahan Esfahani. The title of the album is Musique?; and the title recalls some of the writings of John Cage in which he tried to take on a favorite criticism of his work: “But is it music?” The title also reflects the final composition on the album, “Programme commun ‘Musique socialiste?,’” composed by Luc Ferrari in 1972.
Esfahani may be familiar to many local readers, particularly those that follow the concerts produced by San Francisco Performances (SFP). Esfahani was the very first recital artist to appear in a new concert series entitled PIVOT: New Adventures in the Performing Arts. The recital took place on October 8, 2016. He then returned to San Francisco this past January for another PIVOT recital, this time sharing the stage with violinist Stefan Jackiw.
What had particularly piqued my curiosity at his 2016 debut was Esfahani’s decision to include Steve Reich’s “Piano Phase” on his program. This was a bold move on his part. “Piano Phase” is now over 50 years old; but, for many (if not most) listeners, it remains as provocative as it was when it was first performed. Indeed, when Esfahani had previously played the piece in Germany, it sparked a riot. Nevertheless, in his San Francisco performance it was clear that he appreciated Reich’s “phase” technique; and I am pretty sure that I was not the only one in the audience that was drawn into his command of the composition.
Two of the other pieces on that 2016 program have been included on the new Musique? recording: Toru Takemitsu’s “Rain Dreaming” and Kaija Saariaho’s “Le Jardin Secret II,” both composed in 1986. The former was definitely a surprise, since I had not previously known that Takemitsu composed for harpsichord. Nevertheless, his approach to thematic units was familiar; and the harpsichord sonorities emerged as well-suited to the two connotations of the title, rain and dreaming.
The Saariaho composition, on the other hand, supplemented the harpsichord part with tape accompaniment. At the San Francisco performance the tape was given quadrophonic projection with the loudspeakers at the four corners of the audience area. (“Le Jardin Secret I” was strictly electronic.) My own impression was that the synthesized sonorities could be taken as suggesting orgasm, but the booklet notes by John Fallas never mention that perspective. More important was Esfahani’s ability to interleave the harpsichord part with the electronics without one side overwhelming the other. That said, I suspect that the spatial qualities of this music will always be better appreciated in performance, rather than on recording.
Anahita Abbasi and Mahan Esfahani working on “Intertwined distances” in San Diego (screen shot from a video by Tony Minaskanian posted on Facebook by the International Contemporary Ensemble)
The Saariaho selection is one of three on the album involving electronics. The most recent of these, “Intertwined distances,” was composed by Anahita Abbasi and completed in 2018. Abbasi wrote the following about the use of synthesized sounds:
The electronic component comes out of a close collaboration between Mahan Esfahani and the composer. The sounds are solely harpsichord sounds, specially recorded for this piece. In association with various filters and processes, the material developed further and gained other colours and qualities.
What is interesting is the way in which Abbasi begins with a passage for solo harpsichord, almost as if she decided to establish a palette of “natural” sonorities before bringing her electronics into the mix. Nevertheless, the quarter-hour duration of this composition tends to overstay its welcome. This is one of those pieces in which the listener is likely to “get the point” long before the conclusion is “in sight.”
The remaining electronic selection is the Ferrari composition that inspired the title of the album. Ferrari was one of the founding members of the Groupe de Recherches Musicales, working with resources provided by Radiodiffusion-Télévision Française, the national French network for both television and radio. The composition’s title suggests that it is the most “political” offering on the album. However, it is difficult to grasp either connotations or denotations of political ideologies over the course of the work’s twenty-minute duration. (If there is anything political about the piece, it is the tendency to take too long to make a point.) Those interested in a synthesis of music and politics would probably do better to explore the music of Cornelius Cardew, but I do not think that Cardew ever composed for harpsichord.
The other two pieces on the album are harpsichord solo compositions. Gavin Bryars’ “After Handel’s ‘Vesper’” runs the risk of having a back-story (which can be found in the accompanying booklet) that is more interesting than the music itself. Henry Cowell’s Set of four is more likely to engage. This is a suite that was commissioned in 1960 by the American harpsichordist Ralph Kirkpatrick, who was just as interested in building a repertoire of new compositions as he was in performing pre-Classical compositions.
Cowell is better known for his solo piano compositions, particularly those in which he explored the percussive qualities of tone clusters. Such tone clusters are also encountered in Set of four; but, as Monty Python liked to put it, they are “something completely different.” The difference probably involves the lack of sustained resonance provided by the very structure of a grand piano, meaning that there are decidedly sharper edges to the harpsichord clusters, which are likely both to provoke and to fascinate at the same time.
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