Time For Three: They Think They Can Swing
Arbitrary Fun Fact About Kery # 348: I have a genetically inherited background in bluegrass.
If classical music is my lover, then bluegrass is that crazy uncle that I only see at family reunions. Although I have pledged my undying love to Brahms, Mahler, Beethoven, and other such greats, I keep returning to the fact that I grew up listening to the sounds of bluegrass: my dad’s strumming his guitar on a Saturday night, tossing out a walking bass line at gigs, and giving those dreaded banjo lessons in our living room (while Mom and I huddled in the back room whimpering “Make it stop….”). Through middle and high school, he conned me into playing for some of his bluegrass/blues jam sessions, reminiscent of the get-togethers he’d have with his family growing up. And as I sat in the decidedly colonial City High School auditorium, I drew from my childhood experiences and those emotionally buried memories of Dad’s bluegrass music.
I can split up their performance into two distinct elements: the audio and the visual. Usually, this wouldn’t be such a big deal - - honestly, this is an arbitrary distinction, and one that is probably only interesting or pertinent in some kind of “collision of mediums and arts!!!” theory class setting. But because they found themselves on the “entertainer” side of the spectrum for me, I am forced to consider them on these two separate levels - - because just listening to them was definitely not enough.
I’ll cover the audio first. They’re fabulous. Good technique, good tuning (the bass player was always checking - - I wrote in my notes “good man”), great musicianship. It’s bluegrass, but you know they practiced their Bach beforehand. Granted, this ego-boosting droning is unsurprising knowing that they found each other (it must have been fate) at a conservatory, the Curtis Institute in Philadelphia. As far as individual songs and the entire performance are concerned, things were always changing - - it was a never-ending exercise in color, texture, and style. A combination of beautiful, sweeping melodies, fast, virtuosic phrases, some jazz influence, a little gaelic, some “swung” classical (I’ll get to that later) and overall “fun stuff” made for a constantly entertaining show. They even used extended techniques - - basically, this is stuff the original instrument makers didn’t intend for players to do to their beautiful work, but they do it anyway. This includes such things as using their instruments (or bows) for percussive purposes, harmonics, making “weird” noises only heard in Penderecki’s “Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima,” etc. I can even say that I have now survived “two guys, one violin.” Regardless of personal taste, you have to admit that they were prepared, clean, and talented, especially considering that the entire show was memorized.
However, the visual was just a little distracting. Just a little. I don’t know if it was the constant, endless eye-lock going on between he whom I termed “bass boy” and the first violin (or so I would assume - - the other violinist, equally as virtuosic, was often stuck in what we call the “utility player” spot), the changing light colors for every song, or bass boy’s unending attempt to impregnate his instrument. You think a French concerto is hard? No, no, you try to grind with your instrument while playing. Now that is talent.
They also brought some humor to the performance. I termed them “loveable goofballs,” cracking jokes, telling stories, and some physical humor, most notably when bass boy decided to lay his bass on his lap and play it like a guitar (copying the “2nd” violin). Their entertainment value was off the charts, as evidenced by the screaming fangirls at the end of their performance. Who knew a couple violins and a bass could be veritable rock stars?
I have one major point, however, that I must make known. I was highly disappointed, okay, incredibly insulted, when our stringed friends deigned to claim that their rendition of Bach was “swung.” As far as I knew, swing came about from jazz, you know, those guys who can make playing just one note over and over again so cool you’ll melt into the basement (not to be confused with the minimalists, whose repeated notes will merely make you transcend existence and at the same time make you feel so hopped up on caffeine that not even the world can contain you). The basis of swing, or so my six years of jazz experience tell me, is that each beat is divided into three, a triplet. Thus, eighth notes become uneven and cool, risqué. I don’t think I detected one triplet in their entire performance. Every beat was still split up into sixteenth notes (four notes per beat). I did, however, detect hemiolas (they’re super cool!) and syncopation (when it’s just a little off from the basic beat). I’m sorry, gentlemen, but that is not swing. That’s just playing with your sixteenths in a cool fashion that’ll make the 15-year-olds swoon. (I’d also like to note that syncopation and hemiola were popular with Beethoven and Brahms, to name a few, and if Brahms had the opportunity to turn your brain upside down, he would).
In review, they were great. They were talented, entertaining, funny, a good show all around. It was a good way to spend my Thursday night, and I’m glad I went. If only they could fix that fundamental “swing” problem…
Your guest correspondent,
Kery Lawson
