Toronto Estonian film festival profiles contemporary composer Erkki-Sven Tüür at screening this evening

Music-rich Estonia's bounty of composers includes Erkii-Sven Tüür, a generation younger than Arvo Pärt. Tüür lays claim to an eclectic background, but his music is basically Modernist. He overlays intellectualism with a flair for the dramatic.

Presented by EstDocs, an Estonian documentary film festival-cum-competition (yes, that's how diversified Toronto's non-stop procession of film festivals has become), the documentary Erkki-Sven Tüür; 7 Etudes in Pictures is a 77-minute portait of the composer and his sources of inspiration.

The screening is at 7 p.m., Papermill Theatre at Todmorden Mills (tucked away in a sweet little spot on the eastern embankment of the Don Valley, off Pottery Rd.).

Dedication, a 20-year-old composition for cello and piano is pretty representative of what I've heard, and very nicely performed by students Theodor-Peeter Sink and Annegret Leiten at a concert organized by the Tallinn Music Highschool last year:

Screening tonight: Music therapy is a gift that keeps on giving, and there are no nasty side-effects

Nancy McMaster, a Vancouver music therapist, says "music organizes us." That appears to be one of the keys to why and how music therapy is able to bring autistic children out of their sensory-overload shell. The organization of sound, of community and tangible result coming out of an effort that involves receiving (listening) and giving (making music) improves the lives of people of all ages with other cognitive or emotional challenges.

When I was researching an article on music therapy a few years ago, I saw, in every visit and interview, how music therapy works. It was powerfully inspirational to see that the tool to reach the minds of people who don't fall into our accepted patterns of cognition and socialization is one that is accessible to all -- and that there are no adverse side-effects.

The Canadian Music Therapy Trust is offering a series of glimpses into this wonderful world this evening, in the screening of The Gift of Music: Stories of Music Therapy, at the Royal cinema, 608 College St., at 7 p.m. Tickets are $10, and there will be a Q&A session afterward.

Filmmaker Scott Rondeau travelled across the country to interview a variety of therapists, academics and researchers. Most powerfully, he was able to catch children and adults in actual music therapy sessions, and the proof is in the viewing.

The gift of music is one that keeps on giving.

To give you an idea, here is a snippet of Paul Lauzon, head of the music therapy programme at Acadia University, working with music therapy group participants at the Wolfville, NS branch of L'Arche (an organization servicing developmentally disabled people):

Salon des oubliés: Do we give film composers enough credit for craft and versatility?

The art of a fine film composer is demanding -- not just matching music to story, but changing styles radically from project to project. At the same time, most of us art-music types don't ascribe as much importance to film music as we do to works commissioned by stage performers.

I want to use the late Italian master Giovanni Fusco as an example. Had he not died in 1968, he would have turned 104 today.

Fusco's music for stage, church and concert hall has been erased by the passage of the last 60 years. I don't even think that any of it is in print. But his work with the great film directors of his day lives on.

He wrote his first film score in 1936, and was well into middle age by the time he began collaborating with the hot young filmmakers of postwar Italy. Fusco was versatile, efficient and, by the account on his official archival website, a fine human being.

To try and appreciate his work, here are five clips that reveal psychological insight as well as a sure command of mood and building of tension -- not to mention plain old fun. Another great thing is how neither the filmmaker nor Fusco is afraid of silence, which can be far more captivating in the right scene.

1. from Alain Renais' Hiroshima, Mon Amour (1959):

2. the "Twist" from Michaelangelo Antonioni's 1962 film, L'Eclipse, with Alain Delon -- stereotypical music that you expect from Italian movies of the day:

3. two scenes from La Corruzione, by Mauro Bolognini (1963) -- the seducerr is Rosanna Schiaffino and her surly innnocent hanger-on, Jacques Perrin:

4. from one of Fusco's final projects, a way out there effort shaping the vocal work of members of the Living Theatre troupe, as directed by Bernardo Bertolucci in "Agonia," part of a 1968 quartet of short films titled Amore e rabbia:

Review: Powerful fusion of silent film and live music in Passion of Joan of Arc at TIFF Bell Lightbox

Renée Falconetti as Joan of Arc in Carl Theodore Dreyer's 1928 classic silent film.

THE PASSION OF JOAN OF ARC
**** (out of 4)
Film by Carl Theodor Dreyer. Music by Richard Einhorn. Live music directed by David Fallis. Repeats tonight. TIFF Bell Lightbox, 350 King St. W. 416-968-3456 or www.tiff.net

Even without any sound at all, Carl Theodor Dreyer's 1928 silent film of the trial, torture and execution of Joan of Arc makes compelling viewing. Augmented by a live soundtrack by American composer Richard Einhorn, performed by a gang of talented Torontonians conducted by David Fallis at the TIFF Bell Lightbox on Tuesday night, this is multimedia at its most riveting.

What a fantastic way to launch the four-title Essential Cinema Concerts series at TIFF's chic new home. (The three upcoming film-concerts are either world or Toronto premieres.)

This was the first time I'd seen The Passion of Joan of Arc, so I wasn't prepared for the mesmerising, doe-eyed face of Renée Falconetti (credited simply as Mademoiselle Falconetti onscreen) as Joan. For the story to work, we have to believe that the 19-year-old 15th century martyr was touched by God. Dreyer's in-your-face lens and Falconetti's unflinching intensity don't let us forget her state of grace for a moment.

Joan's angelic features are in sharp contrast to the caricatures of ignorance, pomposity, entitlement and sheer evil that stare down at her with unvarnished masculine contempt. This is Good vs Evil depicted in black and white, both literally and figuratively.

Although there is no room for nuance here, the visual intensity kept me from thinking about it too much. I was swept away.

The soundtrack, an oratorio called Voices of Light, by contemporary American composer Richard Einhorn, is equally polarized, making for an ideal match. Premiered in 1994, after the composer had been inspired by a 1985 remastering of the film (after an intact print of was found in 1981, in a mental hospital in Norway), the score for orchestra and voices has become the definitive accompaniment.

Blending vocal parts inspired by Medieval song and plainsong (and alternating between Latin and French) and instrumental writing based on layered minimalist note-patterns, Voices of Light could become tedious listening after the first 15 minutes. But, matched up seamlessly with the passionate visuals, the music becomes an integral part of the emotional rollercoaster.

There were times that I tried to focus on the music separately, but the faces on screen kept dragging me back to the movie.

Squeezed tightly on a small stage in front of the screen were an orchestra made up of about two-dozen string and woodwind players, as well as members of Choir 21 and the Toronto Consort, all led by David Fallis. They did a fantastic job in a demanding situation: there couldn't be any straying from the moving pictures, and they had to sound balanced with amplification (movie theatres are not designed for acoustic music; without microphones, the sound wouldn't travel past the first two or three rows of seats).

There is a repeat performance tonight, and its well worth experiencing, as it's such a departure from classical concerts where the visuals are an add-on, rather than the main event. (Prepare for cinematic sticker shock, though; a full-price adult ticket is $50.)

My only quibble is with the lack of background information. There were no printed programmes for the screening/concert and TIFF artistic director Noah Cowan's introduction was as brief as the notes on the film venue's website. If you didn't know anything about Dreyer, his masterpiece, Joan of Arc or Voices of Light before you entered the theatre, you wouldn't know any more on your way out.

You'd simply leave with the conviction that you'd just experienced something very special.

+++

The Criterion Collection released The Passion of Joan of Arc together with Einhorn's oratorio, performed by Anonymous 4 and the Radio Netherlands Philharmonic and Choir, not too long ago. The DVD comes with several background extras, and the booklet includes the full vocal text.

To give you a taste, here are the opening 10 minutes. (Incidentally, one thing that surprised me was the frequency of the camera-angle cuts; they feel right at home in the 21st century):

It's our obsessive curiosity is the enigma wrapped around the riddle that is Glenn Gould

Yesterday, on would have been Glenn Gould's 78th birthday, I read an article on Gould's piano technique by New York Times critic Anthony Tommasini. He, like many other New Yorkers, have been pondering the Canadian legend since the Canadian documentary Genius Within: The Inner Life of Glenn Gould began screening in Manhattan at the beginning of the month.

At the same time, I've been trying to wrap myself around yet another new book on Gould (which isn't being published in English for another month, so I'll save full comment for later), the latest on what I believe is a case of ever-diminishing returns as we squeeze every last drop of juice and sift through the pulp of what was a pretty luscious piece of musical fruit.

The dissection of everything Gould into tiny little pieces is a strange symptom of our times.

Thanks to Twitter, I know what Justin Timberlake had as a mid-afternoon snack. Thanks to omnipresent paparazzi, I know Jennifer Garner prefers Starbucks or that Paris Hilton doesn't just have lipstick in her handbag.

Is this a natural human curiosity about the musicians, actors and other celebrities (I can't think of a word to describe Hilton, actually) that we admire? Or have we become stalkers?

In trying to push to the extreme every possible psychological and physiological and philosophical analysis about the nature of genius and eccentricity and Glenn Gould, are we interested or obsessed? Are we appreciating, or are we destroying the magic of art and craft?

What is it about our nature that compels us to go past enjoying artistic creation in the moment?

We appear to have a need to possess the object of our love so completely that we frequently run the risk of destroying it in the process (I cite as an example Michael Clarkson's awful The Secret Life of Glenn Gould: A Genius in Love).

But this is hardly something new, as 17th century Dutch philosopher Spinoza reminded me in his 1677 book, The Ethics, written as a series of postulates and proofs. (This is from R.H.M. Elwes' 1883 translation from the original Latin:

Postulate 36: He who remembers a thing in which he has once taken delight, desires to possess it under the same circumstances as when he first took delight therein.

Proof--Everything which a man has seen in conjunction with the object of his love, will be to him accidentally a cause of pleasure...in other words, he will desire to possess the object of his love under the same circumstances as when he first took delight therein. Q.E.D.

Just because it's nothing new to want to swallow up the object of your love doesn't mean we need to do it to our favourite artists and interepreters, is it?

Here a bit of Bach to set us on the right path, thanks to Gould, countertenor Russell Oberlin and Cantata BWV 54, Winderstehe doch der Sünde (Why don't you try to keep away from Sin, already):

35 classic movies packed into one elegant animated short

See how many of the 35 movies you can identify here. There's no musical connection; just my admiration for this elegant and imaginative piece of animation.

Balance between a free spirit and determined purpose in music or art may be the rarest gift of all

We've all received emails with clever, incisive or inspirational quotations inserted at the bottom.

The best I've read in a long time came to me from Montreal countertenor Scott Belluz. He says he swiped it from an interview with French actor Isabelle Huppert:

Comment vivre? Comme un funambule posé en équilibre entre l`idée fixe et une certaine
indifférence.
(Translation: How to live? Like a tightrope walker balanced between a fixed point of focus and a certain indifference.)

I've been trying to think of a piece of music that fits that description, for me. There are so many possibilities and yet so few. As in life, the idée fixe is easy to find, as is insouciance. But both in balance?

Feel free to send me your suggestion, if you have one, and I'll try to post it here as an ongoing summer treat.

Although the overall tone is a bit more serious than I intended, here is a spectacular meeting of idée fixe -- in the very nature of the passacaglia form, where a central musical figure repeats throughout -- as well as insouciance -- the composer's over-the-top embellishment of the figure as well as the interpreter's flagrant disregard for the fact that this music should be unplayable by a regular mortal. I think that this piece is beautifully structured and, in this instance, gorgeously played.

Behold the Passacaglia on a theme from Schubert's 'Unfinished' Symphony by the legendary Polish-American pianist-composer Leopold Godowski (1870-1938), as played by Canadian Marc-André Hamelin:

Although I'm not sure I feel like I got the music right, I can think of a person who fits Isabelle Huppert's words perfectly: American visual artist Alexander Calder (1898-1976). Here he is presenting his Circus:

CD Review: Dmitri Shostakovich adapted to world of silent film with fanciful musical invention

BYELORUSSIAN RADIO AND TV SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA/MNATSAKANOV
Shostakovich Film Series: Alone (Delos)
*** (out of 4)

Most film scores make for poor companions when listening for pleasure, because they're the musical equivalent of MSG in food -- and enhancer of the main event, not something to be consumed by itself. But Dmitri Shostakovich's second film score, for the 1931 film Alone (the Russian title is Odna), is so full of invention that this album is worth picking up if you're a fan of his other music. He was 25 when this film was released, and all the building blocks of this later output -- how he develops a motifs, harmonic changes, rhythm and orchestration -- are clearly in place.

This is not a new recording, merely a reissue of the first reprise of the composer's original score, made back in 1995, a couple of years after the world discovered the film itself (click on the disc image for details). 

Odna was made to encourage Soviets to embrace collective agriculture (young female teacher gives up the urban bustle of Leningrad for the privations of Siberia, where she will educate pagan children forced to work on uncollectivized farms). It's a silent film that includes a couple of short bursts of dialogue. Shostakovich worked part-time as a silent-film accompanist in his student days, so he knew exactly what this medium needed. There is a 2008 Naxos disc by the Frankfurt Radio Symphony Orchestra that also includes the Overture (replaced by silence in the film) and a later Interlude.

I haven't listened to the Naxos CD, but the Delos album is nicely done, with the tracks laid out chronologically and repetitions cut. This is not a film-music suite, so everything comes in bite-sized chunks. The Byelorussian Radio and TV Orchestra is clear, balanced and sharp under the baton of veteran Russian conductor Walter Mnatsakanov. There is also some nice work by the Minsk Chamber Choir.

The pleasure here is realising how much the composer can do with short melodic figures. He has a full symphony orchestra at his disposal, but ignores using the strings as a large ensemble (in the style of Hollywood) in favour of stark, minimal textures that use a lot woodwinds. The opening, urban scenes are brittle-bright, while the Siberian outback gets much moodier sonic treatment.

Because much of the music here is rich in rhythm, I think it could be adapted into a fantastic ballet score. My favourite segment is one of the longest: a meandering, almost sensual, bassoon solo called "Altai: Andantino" that lasts nearly 8 minutes.

I was also trying to figure out how I could keep listening to the music on this CD. The 72 minutes of music don't work for me as an uninterrupted listening experience, but, individual sections would make great iPod fodder.

+++

Thanks to a Japanese old-movie fan, Odna is available for viewing on YouTube. The soundtrack was so poorly recorded, that the 1995 recording barely sounds like the same score.

Here is the opening sequence, followed by two sections from the depths of Siberia (filmed at a real location in Khazakstan). The subtitles are in Japanese, so English-readers are out of luck. Because the Overture is missing, the opening credits are totally silent:

Short film 'The Sandpit' a miraculous marriage of music, image and creative artifice

American video artist Sam O'Hare has created a short film, The Sandpit, which turns a day in the life of Manhattan into something very special. It's real, but looks like animation. It looks tiny, but embraces the whole city. And the music, written specially for the film by a sound-design outfit called Human, is fabulous.

I'll let you in on the answer to one question that I had to ask: O'Hare achieved his visual effects by shooting more than 35,000 stills with a variety of conventional lenses, then turning them into video -- so it really is animated.

The Sandpit from Sam O'Hare on Vimeo.

Symphony of the Big City a creepy experience when the backdrop is silence

This evening, to close a silent film festival at Innis Town Hall, Toronto organist William O'Meara is going to accompany the screening of two silent films from Germany -- on the piano. Tickets are $15 for the 7:30 p.m. show. For details, click here.

One of them is Berlin, Symphony of a Great City (I suspect that a better translation would be Berlin, Symphony of the Big City), made in 1927 by Walter Ruttmann.

I watched "Akt I" in silence, which was unsettling. Because the filmmaker arrives by train at 5 a.m., the streets are deserted. The big city is a ghost town which, viewed without a soundtrack, is even more creepy (it takes about 6 minutes for a man to appear, walking his German shepherd).

As I watched, I tried to imagine what sort of music I would play to back up the street views and ensuing factory bustle of that first act ("Akt II" opens with the city's pastoral counterpart of women flinging open shutters to welcome the morn; "Akt III" stars with interesting stuff going on in the streets). Ideally, the music would change as quickly as the scenes, but I was thinking symphonically.

Here's what I came up with (it probably says more about my subconscious attitudes toward the images in the movie than about the film itself): 

Get the film running then click play on Christoph Eschenbach's rendition of the second movement, "Sturmisch bewegt," from Mahler's Symphony No. 5 (because the film's first act and the music come in two clips, click on the second music clip as soon as the first one stops, so you can keep everything more or less happening together):