Wonderful performance of this piece by wonderful soloist and wonderful orchestra
Programme Notes
Mvt.1: Kitchen, Garage, Workshop
Mvt.2: Foyer, Swimming Pool (Interlude)
Mvt.3: Lounge
Mvt.4: Nursery, Games Room
The term “house music” is commonly used in reference to a specific genre of electronic dance music, or even to electronic dance music genre in its entirety. My particular favorite style of electronic dance music is techno, for reasons of its extroversion and relevance to a wide swathe of young music lovers. Part of my compositional research over the past 12 years has been investigating the integration of aspects of techno music, such as its rhythmic, harmonic and structural paradigms, into the genre of contemporary art music, and in doing so, bringing it from its computer-based realisations to performances by living musicians on acoustic instruments.
However as the titles of the movements suggest, this version of House Music is largely based upon features of our living quarters, as well as my own reactions to them. Each movement pictorially represents particular rooms and features of a variety of houses (or perhaps mansions). My compositional aesthetic has always been to write in response to contemporary society and culture, and while humans have been living in houses or similar structures for thousands of years, there are particular facets of contemporary living that have provided a rich source of inspiration for this work.
The first movement is a very busy and fast-paced exploration of three rooms: the kitchen, garage and a workshop (or shed, as would be found in Australia). The opening flute gestures and cadenza imply “everything but the kitchen sink”, bringing to mind a wide variety flute effects and frenetic activity. Parked in the garage is a souped-up hoonmobile that makes its presence felt from time to time, while who knows what slightly sinister creations are being created in the workshop.
The second movement is much slower in pace, with images of luxurious fountains and spacious foyer areas inviting us to relax and wallow in sensuous decadence. Perhaps you may wish to sit by the pool and watch the ripples move in the sunlight while drinking your margarita.
The lounge room is also for relaxing, or perhaps sitting back in a 1960s-style red vinyl lounge, putting on the stereo and chilling out to some muzak, sinking down into a groovy ambience as time floats by.
But there is only so much chilling out that one may imbibe before the demands of the more vigorous folk impinge upon you. Children are demanding and seem to have boundless innocent energy. Perhaps putting on a video game or two in that most McMansion of rooms, the games room, will help to calm them down, or at least provide a temporary distraction.
Reviews ‘It shows you things that you never knew a flute could do – creating faux chords with harmonics, mixing air and notes, tapping on the keys, separate tonguings, quartertones. And that is just the opening page. Hindson, who is Australian, wants to see if the rhythms and harmonies of techno music can be brought into the classical concert hall. The result is bizarre but strangely compelling – long flute cadenzas that sound like avant-garde experimentation from the 1960s alternate with dance numbers for full orchestra with the volume turned up to maximum. Soloist Marina Piccinini showed off what she could do, as if asked to play the advanced guide to flautist’s technique from first page to last at breakneck speed … for once this was the living composer’s evening.’ Financial Times (Richard Fairman), 15 December 2006
When writing a work for percussion, and particularly for a soloist of the calibre and versatility of Evelyn Glennie, a composer is presented with a multitude of options. There is such a wide range of instruments from which to choose, unlike other concertos which are almost exclusively for the single instrument (i.e. a piano, violin or so on). Such an extent of choice can be quite daunting and yet opens so many possibilities.
My Percussion Concerto has been structured in three continuous parts, and each movement is based upon a distinct instrumental family within the theatre of percussion instruments. Cymbals form the basis of the first movement, including a number of hi-hats. As cymbals do not have distinct pitches other than a general sense of high and low, rhythmic and colouristic concerns are paramount in this movement for the soloist, including stopped cymbals (which are traditionally indicated by the word “secâ€). This movement concludes with an improvised tam-tam cadenza.
In 2005, the Queensland Orchestra presented a concert of my music, and in between pieces, Vincent Plush and I had a dialogue about composing. I made the comment that “we all need more beauty in our livesâ€, upon which the audience burst into spontaneous applause. This enthusiastic response provided the starting point for the second movement of the Percussion Concerto, for solo vibraphone with a predominantly string-based accompaniment. The vibraphone is an instrument capable of great subtlety and grace, as well as having a very rich and mellow sound. It is unashamedly slushy in character.
However we cannot live on beauty alone: after a rich repast some may feel the necessity to work off those syrupy kilojoules with a more vigorous activity, such as dancing. The percussion soloist certainly must work hard in the third movement, Drummer Queen, which as the title suggests is based upon a variety of drum patterns. There is a strong influence of popular dance music in this movement ranging from the repetitive rhythmic phrases in the solo and orchestral parts through its the harmonic language and layers of instrumental textures.
for voice, electric guitar (optional) and didjeridu (1 player), and orchestra (picc.1.2(II=ca).2(I=Eb, II=bcl).1.cbsn – 4231 – timp – perc(1) – strings – CD playback)
The history of the Kalkadunga people, based around what is now Mount Isa in Queensland, and European settlers is by no means a happy one. The Kalkadunga tribe were renowned as fierce and determined warriors. They maintained a 15 year guerilla campaign against the incoming pastoralists and colonial authorities. The unfortunate conclusion to this conflict took place in 1884 with the combined attack by the
Queensland Police on the Kalkadungu tribe as retribution for the killing of a pastoralist and five troopers. As many as two hundred tribespeople were killed in this battle, and according to some accounts, the bleached bones of the dead could be seen lying on the ground up to fifty years later.
William Barton is a member of the Kalkadunga tribe. This composition is based upon a song written by William in his native language at age 15. The song was written when William was in the Kalkadunga country and was inspired by his culture and the landscape. It is concerned with the passing of culture from one generation to the next, as and such, forms the starting point for this work which aims to combine Australia’s rich cultural heritage within a cultural context, as well as exploring the general subject of past, present and future songlines.
Kalkadungu is organized into a number of sections. The opening of the piece is entitled ‘Warrior Spirit I’, and as such is characterised by a generally aggressive mood. There is much playing of the sections of the orchestra in rhythmic unison, combining perhaps like battalions of armed forces facing off in battle. The combined troopers’ whistles signal an abrupt change to the second section, ‘Songman Entrance’, which includes the recitation of William’s original song upon which the entire work is based. This section concludes with a link to contemporary culture through a short electric guitar solo based upon the song, which is abruptly concluded to make way for the third section, ‘Bleached Bones’. This section, featuring viola and cor anglais solos, is inspired by the vision of survivors of the Kalkadungu attack mourning for the loss of their kin, their tribe and their culture. The electric guitar again enters, creating a link with the present day in a more extended improvised solo passage – the contemporary descendent in commentary. ‘Warrior Spirit II’ again evokes the legendary fierceness of the Kalkadunga people and the events of 1884, but this section is not as long as Warrior Spirit I: it is as if these events have now become a violent flashback. The drama of Warrior Spirit II prepares the entrance of the didjeridu, which is later joined in a primal duet with a bass drum in’Spirit of Kalkadunga’. This extended section is continued by the orchestra to the work’s conclusion in a manner that aims to reflect upon the relationship between Aboriginal and European cultural practice in contemporary Australia. The conclusion to Kalkadungu is not especially triumphant or grand – this would not be appropriate given the programmatic content of the work with its historical and contemporary cultures – but nonetheless paves the way for something of an optimistic outcome.
notes by William Barton and Matthew Hindson
Reviews
CD Recording Available?
Available on the disc Kalkadungu, featuring William Barton, released on ABC Classics.
Complete premiere recording of Speed – Tasmanian Symphony Orchestra
Programme Notes
record-breakingly fast velocity, rapidly executed activity, juggernaut-like motion, driving in a hurry, a fast-talker, the pace of modern life, amphetamine-based drugs…
SPEED: Before you hear the first note, when you read the title of this work, various connotations such as those above may come to mind. Hindson’s SPEED allows for any or all of these interpretations. Like other works of his that I’ve heard, SPEED sounds like it comes from the mind of a present-day equivalent of the Romantic-era, introverted artist/visionary in the garret, or even the eccentrically brilliant Frankensteinian scientist inventing god-knows-what-new-horror in the lab. But the creator from the last century was locked away in self-imposed exile from the machinations of “real” life, which were too superficial and soulless for such a sensitive nature. Hindson conversely – perversely even – celebrates both the idea of the deepest, philosophical contemplation (SPEED is a meditation on speed), as well as the full gamut of postmodern life with all its ever-accelerating, all-senses-impacting, jolting sensation of rush.
It is part of his perversity that Hindson uses the primary nineteenth-century instrumental force – the symphony orchestra – to create this metaphor for life in the late twentieth century, characterised surely by the increasing prevalence of information technology and digitally synthesised sound. With SPEED, Hindson demolishes modernist pronouncements of the death-of-the-orchestra as a viable, present-day ensemble. He offers a further reading of his piece:he relates that ‘it was strongly influenced by techno music, and wears those influences on its sleeve.’ Techno music and its derivatives – the music of dance and rave parties – contain the following characteristics, which appear in SPEED:repetition, a mainly steady beat, many parallel triads flavouring the harmony, and of course a fast to very fast tempo.
Techno music has a singular energy, which speaks for a certain facet of “underground” society or “street” culture. This is an aspect of great importance to Hindson, who is concerned to acknowledge the wide range of contemporary Australian society’s musical interests. The energy peculiar to more ‘hard-core’ forms of techno has found its way into Hindson’s writing, focussing in particular on its freneticism, which is translated into the intensely gestural, rapid instrumental writing for the instruments, and which the listener can hear in other works by Hindson such as Chrissietina’s Magic Fantasy, AK-47, and Mace (recently released on CD with works by Stuart Greenbaum and John Peterson). Perhaps the most over-riding characteristic common to the “popular” musical forms and Hindson’s SPEED is the level of stamina needed by the musicians to sustain the energy and momentum throughout the work: the composer even suggests it could well have been entitled STAMINA rather than SPEED.
Linked with techno music through the rave party scene are the murky speed/ecstasy types of drugs. While this association is of secondary importance to the inspiration and intended effect of the piece, Hindson captures a sense of the psycho-physical consequences induced by these drugs: invincibility/indestructibility, ecstasy, hyperactivity, paranoia, and again, stamina.
And yet, despite all the hyper-ness qualities of the work, not much stamina is required to experience the piece. Hindson manages – perversely again – to make SPEED an engaging aural treat; it is not hard-going: there is an introverted middle section, and the sonic-blasting outer sections are not in any way repellent. One is left with the impression at the conclusion of the work that it’s all over in a big, first-time-on-the-big-dipper, flash.
also available: an analysis and education kit of SPEED for use in classroom/teaching situations, contact the education officer of the Sydney Symphony Orchestra for more information on this.
This work featured in Veitstanz: Shake Rattle and Roll, a ballet choreographed by Berndt Schindowski, performed by Ballet Schindowski in Gelsenkirchen, Germany (January – March 2004).
This work featured in Ellipse, a ballet choreographed by Graeme Murphy for the Sydney Dance Company in 2002.
Reviews
“…Referring specifically to Matthew Hindson’s SPEED, funky was probably not the right word but the band were certainly pumping. SPEED is a raging 18 minutes of explosive techno for orchestra.
Powered by a synthetic drum kit, the orchestra pulses along at 130-plus beats per minute, with subtle shifts mimicking a DJ’s spin doctoring. The work begins in a quintessential techno style, with triads and minor seconds. It closes with another classic trope of the genre, brashly heroic fourths and fifths. The double reeds didn’t handle their solos too well but the live strings brought a dramatic edge and presence to the sound – who needs a digital sampler when you have a symphony orchestra?
Part of the fun in this piece is realising how silly you feel sitting in a concert hall at 9.30 PM when the music conjures a warehouse at 3am. Laugh? I nearly wet myself.” – Martin Ball, The Australian, 29 July 1997.
“TSO goes techno,” said the flier. With a repeat of Matthew Hindson’s popular techno spoof Speed to bring in the punters, the TSO relocated its Music of the 20th Century series from the conservatorium to the larger Stanley Burbury Theatre…
And so to Hindson’s Speed. It had me in stitches again, with its brilliant evocation of techno tropes. The strings work overtime in reproducing lines usually reserved for a sequenced synthesiser, and the trombones are just perfect as wailing sirens. Hindson has cut a few minutes of the score since the first performance, bringing the work closer to 15 minutes. One of the effects of this is to highlight the central slow section, where Hindson appears to be saying, “I can write a romantic film score too”. Shameless!.” – Martin Ball, The Australian, 1 May 1998.
“More musical drivel from Matthew Hindson… how does that seem as a way of leading into a word or two on his orchestral piece, Speed? A bit sweeping and dismissive perhaps? Yes, but it is one of the legitimate reactions to Speed, which self-confessedly takes its musical cue from one of the lesser genres of our time. Techno music, nominated by Hindson as his stylistic starting point, is the sort of music you make when you want to grind your heel – ever so nonchalantly – on the old idea of music as a nobly expressive, humane activity.
Its mechanical repetitiveness of figuration and beat is a finger sign to musical as tradition – and, in case you feel like raising a red flag in sympathy, it means the same for the idea of music as revolution. This is music which goes with the spurious sense of immunity a hoon might feel while revving-up a wreck on the way to a fast-food joint; its moments of plastic jubilation, faithfully echoed by Hindson, at best fit the closing shots of the latest action picture schlock.
Of course, there is nothing of the hoon about Hindson. He seems a pleasant young man, undoubtedly talented, who is working at the moment as the Sydney Symphony Orchestra’s resident (or, as they say, attached) composer. They wouldn’t let a hoon in there, would they?
In fact, Speed is the soft of pseudo-pop score very much in favour with the musical establishment at the moment. Conductors like a shortish piece which gets under the guard of younger listeners – a majority, as it happens, at this 6.30 PM concert – and makes a lot of people feel they are up with the times without letting its stainless steel finish impinge seriously on their attention. You can jig with the beat – the SSO’s guest conductor, Muhai Tang, shook out a few rumba swivels as he left us in no doubt that he was attuned to the mood of the moment – and there are no indignant exits by members of the audience. If that was new music, that wasn’t so bad, was it? You could be high safely on this Speed.” – Roger Covell, The Sydney Morning Herald, 27 August 1999.
“Something a bit different this week, with a single release making my picks of the week. But this is no ordinary single release.
Speed is a new work by young Australian composer Matthew Hindson, who at 32 years of age has already made his mark in the orchestral world…
In its original format, Speed is a work for orchestra, which takes its lead from the urban club scene. Though its mid-section does break down into a gentle eddy of melody highlighted by harp and strings, this, like the beatless breaks which exist within trance and techno music, merely highlights the pace and intensity of opening and closing sequencs where the orchestra powers along at upwards of 130 bpm. Here a synthesised drum beat drives repeated textural motives, within which brass and strings swell and vie for pole position.
Speed is not only thoroughly enjoyable, but also reflective of the innovative works currently being composed for the symphony. Works which make exciting recordings, but which also have the power to draw younger audiences into the fabulous experience of live symphonic performance.”- Review of SPEED [Tasmanian Symphony Orchestra, David Porcelijn, conductor (ABC Under Capricorn) ] – Paul Turner , Capital Q Weekly, 13 April 2000.
“SOME very wild sounds greet you at the start of this disc of frenetic music by Matthew Hindson, recognised as a leading figure among Australia’s younger generation of composers. He studied with some of this country’s leading composer-teachers, but the energy would be pure Hindson, perhaps with some Leonard Bernstein inspiration. It is exciting and explores a new facet of symphonic sound. A great voice who does not have to use gimmicks or quirks. Just skill and imagination.” – Review of SPEED [Tasmanian Symphony Orchestra, David Porcelijn, conductor (ABC Under Capricorn) ] – Patricia Kelly, The Courier-Mail, 3 June 2000.
RPM stands for Revolutions per Minute. This piece seeks to capture the feeling of unrelenting speed, acceleration and momentum. The composer was influenced by heavy metal music and describes the overall effect as similar to that of driving in a car at a very high speed.
(prog.note from Symphony Under the Stars programme guide, 1998)
Reviews
“I was particularly interested to hear RPM by Matthew Hindson, Sydney’s self-appointed chronicler of recent popular musical styles in a symphonic setting… What I think Hindson does rather well is to adopt a tone of naive homage, without irony, slickness, or sarcasm. In a post-modern age of quotation, double-coding and sarcasm, that is rather refreshing and also rather original.” The Sydney Morning Herald, 16 January, 1998.
CD Recording Available?
Yes, contact the education officer of the Sydney Symphony Orchestra. A limited number of CDs were produced with accompanying educational resources on the piece.
The brass band version of RPM is available on a disc entitled The Alchymist’s Journal, performed by the Leyland Band.
This work featured in Veitstanz: Shake Rattle and Roll, a ballet choreographed by Berndt Schindowski, performed by Ballet Schindowski in Gelsenkirchen, Germany (January – March 2004).
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