ECM Compiles 13-CD Meredith Monk Anthology

My first encounter with Meredith Monk took place in the summer of 1969 during the American Dance Festival. This was Charles Reinhart’s first year as Administrative Director, and it followed a winter season during which Reinhart had brought four “post-modern” dance programs to Broadway. Since I was a graduate student at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology at that time, I was not able to experience all four of those programs, one of which presented Monk. (For the record the program I did attend provided my first encounter with Twyla Tharp.)

Monk’s performance in Connecticut was not on the “official” program, nor was it a dance performance. Only by word of mouth were we aware that she would appear on an extended lawn space. In that setting she gave a vocal recital that lasted (I think) about an hour, during which she accompanied herself with a very modest electronic keyboard. It did not take me long to appreciate that Monk’s vocalizations had more to do with how she delivered her syllables than with either words or semantics. On the other hand, by that time I was no stranger to the post-modern scene (known among many trying to be more specific as the “post-Cunningham” repertoire, identifying Merce Cunningham as the primary inspirational source).

Once I had secured my doctoral degree, I lost touch with the adventurous side of New York performances by taking a teaching position at the Technion in Haifa, Israel, for two years, after which I entered the tenure track at the University of Pennsylvania. The university campus was a short walk from a train station that made it easy for me to get to Manhattan, but most of my time there was spent following American Ballet Theatre. I then spent three years at a “think jar” (smaller than a think tank) in Santa Barbara, California, before moving to Connecticut to work for Schlumberger-Doll Research. While the laboratory was in Ridgefield, I chose to live in Stamford, a short walk away from the train station that would take me quickly to midtown Manhattan.

Thanks to that convenience, I began to catch up on what Monk had been doing since 1969. This included attending several theatrical events that could probably best be described as “abstract opera.” Thanks to making a generous donation, I also received copies of all the vinyl albums she had released. Ironically, however, my arrival in Connecticut took place in the same year in which ECM New Series released Monk’s first CD, Dolmen Music. Over the following years, I had to give up my vinyls due to lack of both space and equipment; and I added only two Monk CD’s to my collection, Do You Be and Songs of Ascension.

courtesy of Jensen Artists

All this takes us up to the immediate present and the release this past November 11 of the thirteen-CD ECM New Series box set Meredith Monk: The Recordings. This accounts for twelve albums, one of which, ATLAS, requires two CDs. The single-CD albums are Dolmen Music, Turtle Dreams, Do You Be, Book of Days, Facing North, Volcano Songs, mercy, impermanence, Songs of Ascension, Piano Songs, and On Behalf of Nature. Monk performs on all of these recordings except for Piano Songs, which consists of solo and duo performances by pianists Ursula Oppens and Bruce Brubaker.

This past Sunday I told the joke about a single-sentence book report:

This book told me more about penguins than I would ever want to know.

Many are likely to react to the prodigious breadth of scope in this ECM collection in a similar manner. Most important is that Monk’s approach to composition has not changed very much since the solo recital she gave in 1969. Ironically, the Piano Songs album is the only one that does not involve vocalization. Over the course of all the other albums, on the other hand, one comes to appreciate just how inventive Monk has been in adapting phonemes as her primary material for creation. Mind you, as one progresses through them, one will come to appreciate not only that inventiveness but also the considerable diversity in her selection of accompanying instruments. As a result, those willing to approach this entire collection as a journey may well appreciate how Monk’s approaches to sonority gradually grow in breadth along with her growth in vocal invention.

That said, many readers should probably be advised that listening to Monk is very much an acquired taste. However, the same can be said of viewing the choreography of Cunningham (not to mention the early choreography of Tharp). Personally, I doubt that I shall be taking many “deep dives” into the Monk repertoire. Nevertheless, there will definitely be times when I would like to “get my feet wet;” and I appreciate that, on those occasions, I shall be in a good position to select the right listening experience for the occasion.