|
Back
06/25/2026
Joseph Franklin: The Horror of the Avant-Garde(s)
Marc Hannaford (piano), Staoshi Takeishi (percussion), Elliott Gyger (conductor)
Recording: Prudence Myer Studio, Ian Potter, Southbank Centre, University of Melbourne, Australia (August 18, 2023) – 37’38
Vinyl release New Focus Recordings FCR451 (Distributed by Naxos of America) – Booklet in English
Avant-Garde! The words still send shivers down our spines. Oh, to be in Greenwich Village or Paris in the first half of the 20th century, on the cutting edge of serialism and surrealism, chanting with beat poets and dancing the Apache. Man Ray and Duchamp, Allen Ginsberg, Gertrude Stein, and Ornette Coleman. George Antheil, the “bad boy of music,” is buried just seven miles from my home, sealing an affection for the rule‑breaking movement that I’ve had as long as I can remember.
But the odd thing about avant-garde is that, unlike other schools within the arts, it is not a sharply defined period with a beginning and an end. The rule‑breakers of 1915 are not that much different from the avant-garde of 1950 and 2026. If I were to sit at the keyboard and improvise in an unorthodox or bizarre style, it would sound pretty much like the avant‑garde from any time in the past 100‑and‑some years.
Avant-Garde is therefore not dead, but still alive and lively, thanks to new artists who are bringing fresh perspectives to the table. One such artist who caught my attention recently is Joseph Franklin, an Australian composer. In fact, a delightful album, The Horror of the Avant‑Garde(s), has just been released, containing Franklin’s complete Concerto for Piano, Percussion and Large Ensemble. The cover is in screeching orange, and in true rule‑breaking spirit, the title omits the Oxford comma.
The album includes an elegant essay by Kevin Laskey, a musician, writer, and music educator, in which he explores the textures interwoven throughout this complex yet engaging musical adventure. The work is in three movements: “Elasticity”, “The stickiness of time”, and “Figures of refined excess”. In the vinyl edition I am reviewing, “The stickiness of time” movement is half on side A and continued on side B, which I found a bit jarring. But jarring is what avant‑garde is all about. I was, however, eyebrow-raisingly impressed by the clarity and brightness of the vinyl sound. Isn’t it fresh to have several platforms to choose from!
Some listeners are not particularly enthralled by discordant sounds, which they associate with modern music. If the thought of modernism turns you off, know that it’s much more enjoyable in this album than you would imagine. Part of the reason for this is the sleek blending of classical, jazz, and avant‑garde elements, and the wide variety of musical experiences scooped out of a large ensemble skilled in traditional performance and improv. I heard a similar blending that was equally satisfying recently when Wynton Marsalis and friends joined forces with the Philadelphia Orchestra in excerpts from his Symphony n° 4 “The Jungle”.
While Franklin’s concerto can be enjoyed without any explanatory commentary, I think most listeners will benefit from learning more about the work and its performers. Avant‑Garde fanciers will have a blast identifying influences throughout the work, while others may want to Google the title and composer to understand the ideas behind the artifact.
Musically, the first movement offers wisps of melodic fragments, mingled with cheerful babble and Morse Code-like patterns. There are jazz elements running throughout the album, but I wouldn’t call this a jazz piece, by any means. This is because in the vinyl version, the second movement is split in half, and it’s hard to maintain absolute continuity for this section, but the work is so good‑natured as to sweep aside any crabby quibbling.
Piano soloist Marc Hannaford offers a constantly evolving performance with plenty of interaction with the other musicians. Satoshi Takeishi on percussion delivers a strong, but flexible rhythmic center that merges smoothly with the ensemble.
While the final product may succeed in conveying an avant‑garde sensibility, the road leading from here to there bears the glow of traditionalism. This is a familiar, even cozy way to make a musical statement. We can recognize this work’s form as a three‑movement concerto. What could be more traditional than this? Though identifying as avant‑garde, the participants do not shy away from familiar roles (e.g., Elliott Gyger, conductor and Tina Stefanou, artistic director). The vinyl edition could use some booklet notes, but even without further background, this is a savvy album that celebrates the rebels of the past through the innovations of the present. I think I can hear George Antheil applauding in his grave.
Linda Holt
|
