with Nico Muhly, Ben Frost, Sam Amidon and Valgeir Sigurðsson
17303 items (14800 unread) in 93 feeds
with Nico Muhly, Ben Frost, Sam Amidon and Valgeir Sigurðsson
with Nico Muhly, Sam Amidon, Ben Frost and Valgeir Sigurðsson
with Ben Frost, Nico Muhly, Sam Amidon and Valgeir Sigurðsson
Q&A with Grant Gershon and performance with members of the LA Master Chorale featuring works from the new Decca release A Good Understanding.
on the 15th of november in new york city, a special concert will take place as part of the ‘white light festival’ and involves a performance of ‘credo’ by kjartan as well as some works from ‘riceboy sleeps’:
composer and keyboardist kjartan sveinsson of the icelandic post-rock group sigur rós will join forces with the hilliard ensemble and the latvian national chorus for an evening titled credo. they will perform three of his new works, one of which features texts by canadian poet anne carson. the evening also comprises works from riceboy sleeps, the celebrated ambient creation of jón por “jónsi” birgisson, the incandescent voice of sigur rós, and his partner alex somers. credo takes place at the church of st. paul the apostle, 60th and columbus avenue, manhattan.
for more information on the evening as well as ticket information, please visit the lincoln centre website.
also, for more information on the inception of the piece ‘credo’ read our news story from 2007.
Our lovely Mark, manager of Carnaby Street, is getting married on a beach this coming Sunday.
We have sent him and Sarah a present from everyone at howies.
It will be with you tomorrow all being well. (Along with the huge piece of cheese Lydia has sent you both)
The very best of luck for a lovely life together.

The private view is tonight at Westbourne Grove Church.
Then from 9th September – 19th October the Artspace will be open from 9am – 5pm during weekdays
You can call the gallery on: 020 7034 0500.
Westbourne Grove Church
Westbourne Grove (corner of Ledbury Rd),
London, W11 2RW.
Our new pilot started at howies on Monday. Peter. His qualifications are cyclist and runner.
As part of his first week we took him on our canoe to work down the Teifi. We got him to meet Scott get to the boats which was pairing the man who doesn’t know how to get there with the bloke who is most likely to over sleep.
We were on the water just after 7am.
Our motley crew was Robin the warehouse manager and ruben our web geek in one canoe, Kim in operations on her sit on, David who lands the good stuff in a kayak, Mel who designs our clothes in her kayak, Peter and me in another canoe and Scott our Cardigan store manager in his own canoe.
Autumn delivered a chill clear sky with a mist over the water.
When you are right down in the Cilgeran gorge there is no noise except our chatter and paddling. It’s rare to find such peace on this planet. Especially when you commute.
Once we entered the marshes by the wildlife park the sun broke the trees and the river steamed and Peter’s feet thawed.
As we came into Cardigan there were birds by the howies store making a racket in a riverside bush that turned out to be a pair of quarrelling kingfishers.
We were eating warm freshly baked Welsh cakes by 8.30. Thanks to Fforest outdoor for the loan of the canoes.
And a warm welcome to the howies family to Peter.
jpb posted a photo:
We had a full house last night for The Ride Journal’s Wee Do talk. Lots of people…
Lots of bikes…
Lots of fun. A big thank you to everyone who came to see it, and of course the Diprose brothers (The Ride Journal creators) for a really good talk. And an extra thank you to Innocent Drinks and Pitfield Beers (we had a fair few) for keeping us hydrated.
It was inspirational stuff. See you at the next one!
Lydia loves the sloucher tee, its our new super soft and silky merino t-shirt.
You see its not just merino, it has merino knitted on the ouside and Modal on the inside next to your skin.
The Modal feels like silk and has very similar properties to merino, antibacterial, moisture wicking and temperature regulating.
Its made from beech trees and the whole manufacturing process of the fibre is fantastic, its very clean with no harmful waste products, it doesn’t use tons of water like the old fashioned cellulosic fibre, the trees are grown sustainably and the final fibre is biodegradable.
So if you have sensitive skin and find the merino itchy, this could be for you.
Lydia said she isn’t going to take it off, good job its merino modal and non smelly.
A new series of Soul Music has just started, with upcoming episodes of the emotive music programme looking at a wide range of subjects, such as next week's focus on the Czech anthem Ma Vlast by Bedrich Smetana. It starts however with this lovely exploration of Stephen Sondheim's Send In The Clowns. You can cover a lot of ground in half an hour. [MP3]

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I keep waiting for Language Log to debunk this BBC News story by Katie Alcock—I mean, BBC News is notorious for bad science reporting, and the Loggers take delight in bashing them for it (see here and here for two of many examples)—but so far nothing, so I'll just toss it out here and see what people have to say. The story begins "The University of Haifa team say people use both sides of their brain when they begin reading a language - but when learning Arabic this is wasting effort. The detail of Arabic characters means students should use only the left side of their brain because that side is better at distinguishing detail." That sounds like classic overstatement/oversimplification to me, but I'll let somebody else sort it out; I have to get ready to go to New Jersey tomorrow, because frequent commenter jamessal is getting married to his lovely fiancée this weekend, and I'm heading down early to spend a few days before the ceremony sampling the ice cream they're producing for sale. Wish them well, and try to ignore whatever spammers infest LH during the next few days—I don't know whether I'll get a chance to clean them out before Sunday, when I return.
Oh, and if you like jazz and other forms of American roots music, check out The Daddy O'Daily, a brand new blog by my old pal Mike Greene, a fine musician, writer, and raconteur.
anna.list posted a photo:
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If you saw a chap walking around the Moseley Folk Festival with a strange camera strapped to his chest, that was me, again.
howies team rider Dan Yeomans just dropped me an email with news that he’s offering 2 for 1 on his RealSkills hardtail course this weekend.
So take a friend and you’ll both pay half price. Lunch and drinks included.
Dan is a qualified CTC Mountain Bike Instructor and has raced UCI World Cup 4x for 5 years and has featured on the front cover of Dirt magazine, so we’re more than happy to recommend his courses to anyone who’s looking to raise their skill level on the bike.

It should be a great weekend. Click here to find out more.
Writing choral music is one of my greatest pleasures in life; I was a boy chorister with an addiction to the textures and rapturous moments that define the Anglican choral tradition from the sixteenth century to the twenty-first. My sense of line, melody, and harmony all come from strange, specifically choral sources: a little turn of phrase in a Howells Te Deum setting, or a Tye vocal leap that sends shivers up the spine. As a singer, I looked forward to the liturgy because I knew that with it would come these gems: a flick of the tongue for the Tallis Pentecost motet Loquebantur variis linguis apostolis, or a little bit of call-and-response in Taverner’s Dum transisset sabbatum, during Holy Week.
The Bright Mass with Canons, presented on this disc, is an attempt to rediscover the tropes and moments that brightened my childhood music-making. So, in that spirit, the piece is constructed around these little fetishes. The Kyrie begins with bright, brash trumpets, moving towards a modal, plaintive line. The Gloria is rhythmically insistent, but not too much so, and builds towards exactly the kind of outrageous, suspended climax I adored singing. The Sanctus, on the other hand, looks towards electronic music in its use of aleatoric, insect-like twitching from the upper voices, and also looks to Howells with its long, unctuous lines. The Agnus Dei ends the Mass solemnly, with only the slightest tilt of the head upwards as a semi-chorus outlines, with appoggiaturas, an ascending scale.
Writing a set of canticles (a Magnificat and Nunc dimittis, here, rather ambitiously called my First Service) seems like one of the things every composer ought to have done. These are the earliest works in this collection, dating from 2003, when I very anxiously came to Cambridge for their first presentations at Girton and Clare Colleges.
I like the idea of these specific texts having been sung basically every day since the sixteenth century – you have to set the texts delicately, obviously, but because everybody knows them so well, there is always possibility for small explorations into funnier textures and procedures. Another thing to keep in mind about these settings is that they are designed to be listened to while standing up; nobody wants an endless Magnificat. So, they proceed quickly, moving through the text at a conversational but authoritative pace. As I found with the Mass, there is a thrill in manipulating texts that are very well-known and that are recited daily. The only other text of this kind that comes to mind is the announcements made in transit: “mind the gap”, “fasten your seat belts”, “the nearest emergency exit might be located behind you”. Repetition is built into the texts on a macro level; why not, then, explore repetition on the surfaces of them as well?
The first piece I remember learning as a boy was Byrd’s setting of Senex puerum portabat, and so when asked to write a Christmas anthem with brass, I rushed at the chance to set the same text. I also appended a brighter text at the end, to take advantage of the brass quintet. My setting uses two kinds of repetition: metered, controlled pulses in the first half of the piece, and then wild, uncontrolled voices singing “Gloria in excelsis Deo”. The piece ends with a gentle set of Alleluias, a sort of post-partum comedown with gently lilting altos.
A Good Understanding is a celebratory, excited work originally written for adult voices with the addition of children’s voices at the end. The piece unfolds episodically, short choral phrases alternating with longer interludes from the organ and the percussion. The first half of the text is typical psaltry praise-making: outlining agreements, explaining the rules; the music is, accordingly, severe but practical. The second half of the text begins, “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom: a good understanding have all they that do his commandments”. I find the idea of “a good understanding” to be an especially exciting reward for following the rules; the trebles sing pulsed syllables and long descants to celebrate the covenant while the choir sings a lilting, repetitive refrain.
Expecting the Main Things from You is the only secular work on this disc, and although I have always considered setting secular texts to be incredibly difficult, I thought that Whitman’s texts here have the same kind of civic holiness found in the Psalms. Accordingly, the first movement begins with a somewhat obvious word-painting: the poet speaks of carpenters and we have the thwack of wood against wood, he speaks of deckhands and we hear a ship’s bell. However, the ant-farm soon vanishes and the texture dissolves into a lonesome solo violin outlining a delicate passacaglia. After an extended instrumental interlude, the choir emerges, talking about “the delicious singing of the mother”. The first movement ends – as do all three movements – with a wordless sung punctuation: a series of repeated pulses.
If the first and third poems reference the political urgency of the city, the second movement is a pastoral interlude. Accordingly, the percussion parts in this movement are built around three expanding and contracting rhythms in the woodblock, tam-tam and vibraphone. Three quarters of the choir sings a stylised Morse code (I was inspired by watching satellites pass overhead in the middle of the woods in Vermont; the now-omnipresent invisible haze of technology even in the fields), while some sopranos and altos overlay long, endless lines. The third movement is the most urgent and the most aggressive in its patterns: I wanted to reinforce Whitman’s movement from the general to the very specific and accusatory second person of the end of the poem. This is an exciting advantage in secular texts: the word “you” is, at least in the Rites of the church to which I am accustomed, sadly absent. It’s a wonderful word filled with more sounds than one would think, and can be a gentle embrace, or an aggressive finger-pointing. The last five minutes of the third movement obsess over these possibilities. A series of expanding and contracting rhythms and another wordless pulse bring the piece to a quiet close.
None of these works would be possible without their commissioners and first champions. Judith Clurman, a hugely energetic force in choral music, put her weight behind the First Service and commissioned Expecting the Main Things from You. Tim Brown and Martin Ennis, at Girton and Clare colleges respectively, very enthusiastically presented the canticles. And John Scott, a childhood hero of mine, has been performing Bright Mass with Canons since its premiere in 2006. It is with enormous pleasure that I’ve been working with Grant Gershon on this project, whose Los Angeles Master Chorale are a beacon of light for choral music both sacred and secular. His commitment to presenting new music, and his choir’s enthusiasm, have made them wonderful performers and partners in crime both for me and for many living composers.
Nico Muhly
I Drink the Air Before Me is an evening-length score for Stephen Petronio’s dance piece bearing the same name. Inasmuch as it was celebrating Stephen’s company’s 25th anniversary, the piece wanted to be big, ecstatic, and celebratory. Our initial meeting, in which we discussed the structure of the work, yielded a sketch: a giant line, starting at the lower left hand side of a napkin, and ending in the upper right. Start small, get big! The rules: a children’s choir should begin and end the piece. The work should relate to the weather: storms, anxiety, and coastal living. A giant build-up should land us inside the center of a storm, with whirling, irregular, spiral-shaped music and irregular, spiral-shaped dancing. Using these rules, I divided up the piece into a series of episodes all hinging around spiral-shaped constellations of notes. These are most audible in Music Under Pressure 3, and least audible when they are absent, in the diatonic, almost plainchant music that the choir sings at the end, the text of which comes from Psalm 19:
One day tells its tale to another,
and one night imparts knowledge to another.
Although they have no words or language,
and their voices are not heard,
Their sound has gone out into all lands,
and their message to the ends of the world.
I wanted the ensemble to be a little quirky community of people living by the edge of the sea: a busybody flute, a wise viola, and the masculine, workmanlike bassoon, trombone, and upright bass. The piano acts as an agitator, an unwelcome visitor, bearing with it aggressive electronic noises and rhythmic interruptions. ”
Nico Muhly

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