The world of contemporary and avant-garde music has a complex and not altogether healthy relationship with the classical canon from which it ostensibly stems. The latter often ignores the former, preferring to showcase dead composers rather than living ones. In contrast, much ‘living’ contemporary classical music is more interested in the approachable minimalism of Glass and Reich, or filmic, broody easy-listening such that might appear in the background of a Scandi-Noir. The Greyfade label has spent the last few years championing some genuinely challenging ripostes to this dynamic, their output embracing the less immediate end of composition – often via the mechanism of generative processes – whilst retaining the studious, academic qualities of the ivory tower.
Kenneth Kirschner’s Three Cellos adds to this discourse, a work that employs the recognisable aesthetic of modern string composition to offer some fascinating experimentation in terms of its structure and development. To be blunt, Kirschner’s work risks, at first glance at least, being considered rather boring. Combinations of Cellos, sometimes two, sometimes three, stroll through small intervallic changes, repetitions of simple, endlessly evolving harmonic structures. Its effect is hypnotic – with little to grip on to, no hooks – the experience is one of pensive reflection, an almost moodless cycle through every possible angle of a monochrome field, its contours so porous as to eschew form entirely. It’s a soundtrack for the daily commute, for the minutia of life, a modern take on furniture music.
The sort of person who likes the idea of challenging themselves with some austere, repetitive, vaguely clinical composition, is likely the same sort of person who’d happily read an academic thesis on the subject, and happily Greyfade has you covered. Eschewing the LP format of prior releases on the label, Three Cello’s is presented alongside a hardback ‘folio’ detailing the creation of the work, performance notes, extracts of the score, and other such goodies. I’d be interested to know how many people would be interested in reading these sorts of documents, but for academically minded music nerds it’s manna from heaven, a rich document that foregrounds many of the hidden elements that underpin conceptual practice. It’s humbling to be reminded quite how much work goes into a piece of this kind, and the book describes in detail the methodical process that Kirschner and label boss Joseph Branciforte (who transcribed the whole thing meticulously from its digital origins) went through to bring Three Cellos to life.
Listening through to the album, it’s fair to say I don’t love Three Cellos – yet. But then again, the specific brand of challenging that it wields almost necessitates a long engagement – like a tool with a steep learning curve, I feel my initial few listens have barely taken me beneath the surface of what the work may still reveal. In contrast, the ‘Folio’ concept is worth the price of entry alone – a wonderful way of framing the complexities of modern composition, and a powerful argument against the immediacy of our current culture. This is a work that, much like a book, you’ll need to spend a bit of time with – it’s inconvenient, initially unsatisfying, and, much like many of my favourite novels, hard work. And yet, at a time where music seems more than ever to equate to mere entertainment, it’s healthy to be reminded that art isn’t always easy and that you, the listener, might need to put some effort in too.
Listen to Three Cellos here.
Daniel Alexander Hignell-Tully
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