The pianist Vicky Chow says that playing “Sonatra” is a “traumatic
physical experience.” Composed by Michael Gordon, in 2004, and released
on Cantaloupe Music, in two versions, one in normal tuning and one in
unsettling just intonation, “Sonatra” is a spectacular addition to the
piano repertoire. In 1987, Gordon helped found Bang on a Can, a
celebrated New York ensemble that has produced a long list of valuable
premières from artists working in the terrain of post-minimalist and
experimental sounds. Yet, few of the composers associated with that
milieu have been noted for their solo-piano music. Indeed, Gordon says,
“When I started writing ‘Sonatra,’ I decided . . . I would probably only ever
write one piano piece in my entire life.”
“Sonatra” is a fifteen-minute perpetual-motion study that may be the culmination of a
tradition of pieces that place inhuman demands on concert pianists. It’s
been exactly a century since Béla Bartók composed his fearsome Op. 18
Études, the second of which is in chain thirds, just like “Sonatra.” The
composer Conlon Nancarrow created maniacal keyboard music in the forties
and fifties, although most people didn’t hear his piano rolls until the
Nancarrow recordings became available, in the sixties and seventies.
György Ligeti was inspired by both Bartók and Nancarrow in a series of
famous études that began with “Désordre,” in 1985.
“Sonatra” is a milestone of composition, but the recording is also a
milestone of pianism. With a score this difficult, the performer becomes
an essential collaborator. The arpeggios begin in extremis and only
get harder. Tossing off one glissando is easy, but, near the end of
“Sonatra,” the hundreds of glissandos in a row must nearly rub the
pianist raw. One might wonder how much studio magic is present in this
recording. I can verify that Chow can play it live. At a terrific
recital in October, 2016, at Roulette, in Brooklyn, Chow closed with
“Sonatra.” It was my first exposure to the piece and I felt it land like
an unfriendly tap on the shoulder from a heavyweight boxer.
Chow has said that playing “Sonatra” is a “traumatic
physical experience.”
Courtesy Cantaloupe Music
The athletic aspects of “Sonatra” are leavened by a breezy kind of
American aesthetic. The title references the famous saloon singer. (When
you google “Sonatra,” the search engine asks, “Did you mean Sinatra?”)
The ear can follow the charming form on first listen. There’s a
cheerfully experimental approach to tuning. (Perhaps we should now
listen Bartok’s Op. 18 and the Ligeti études in just intonation.) Chow’s
cover photo is like that of a sardonic action hero who doesn’t take
herself too seriously.
The looping streams in “Sonatra” suggest the endless flow of binary
information, music for the computer age, but the limited edition offers heavy vinyl at 45 r.p.m. with normal and
skewed versions, a copy of the score, and a large cover worthy of
framing. Filing the LP on my shelf gave me a rare sense of satisfaction,
especially when so much of my contemporary collection is stored in the
cloud. At times, it feels like the era of undisputed masterpieces is
over, but it turns out that there’s still work that deserves the
old-fashioned phrase from the glory days of vinyl: “An essential library
item.”
“Sonatra” is also available as a simple download at Bandcamp.
Sourse: newyorker.com
