This program note was originally written for the premiere performance of Takács Quartet and Julien Labro's program on December 3, 2021 at University Musical Society in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Shared with permission.
"I'll play it first, and tell you what it is later." – Miles Davis
What ferried you through the disenchantments of lockdown? For me it was, at age 42, playing make-believe with other grown men. Well, that and The Great British Baking Show, if I’m being honest. Our weekly Dungeons & Dragons-esque game quickly led to an obsession with the accompanying artwork, which led me to begging one such artist to perform the ultimate heresy by painting a wizardly scene on the back of my newly-commissioned 5-string violin.
Boy, this program note went sideways quickly.
The point I am circling by over-sharing my pandemic proclivities is this: without risk, art will atrophy. The program that you are about to experience, featuring the superlative Takács Quartet and the dauntless bandoneón virtuoso Julien Labro…the thing is…no one actually knew what it would sound like until the tickets were already purchased and the programs printed. This is quite profound, when you really consider it. We perhaps tend to think of western classical music concerts at this level as thoroughly-vetted, polished objects during which the greatest uncertainty is, say, whether or not an untended cell phone gets frisky.
What if a concert is not a culmination, but an experiment? What if it could give you the same nervy thrill as watching literally any gymnast eschew rationality by mounting a balance beam? Would knowing that the performers could be just as surprised at the outcome as you make this feel more like a shared experience than a one-way transmission? I’m not suggesting that most or even many concerts are safe, pre-determined events. After all, inherent to all live performance is the possibility for an encounter with the unexpected. For instance, an encounter between a Wendy and a wall during a production of Peter Pan…
So, how did this particular constellation of pieces before you – this fetching confluence of sonic flavors – first come into orbit? Borrowing from the immortal sagacity of Bob Ross, some of it can be chalked up to “happy little accidents.” Allow me to illustrate with an excerpt from a recent conversation I had with your bandoneón soloist this evening, recounting his being approached by Music Accord to commission new works for his instrument and string quartet:
Julien: So the consortium came back and asked me if I had a particular string quartet in mind, and I told them, ‘Not really. Let’s just go with whoever is first on your list.’
Doyle: And you end up paired with one of the greatest string quartets in the known universe?
Julien: Yeah. It was pretty sick.
Pretty, pretty sick, indeed. With a veritable dream team assembled and determined that the project propel this combination of instruments beyond the realm of concert hall tango (as popularized by Astor Piazzolla and the Kronos Quartet some 30 years ago), Julien turned to names already inhabiting his phone’s contact list. Enamored of the wondrous music of composer/performer Clarice Assad – in fact, already in process on another commission with her on the West Coast – he followed her affirmative response with a call to composer/performer Bryce Dessner. The two had initially met when Bryce invited Julien to guest on his soundtrack to the 2019 film, The Two Popes, and a mutual admiration society was formed.
All previous skylarking on my part notwithstanding, here is the crux of the matter, friends. The flirtations with, and solicitations of, The Unexpected referenced above is, in the context of this show, not about wardrobe malfunctions or fickle pyrotechnics. It’s about a deliberate choice to palm a handful of multi-hued Mentos (for our purposes: Assad, Dessner, Bach, Saluzzi, Ravel, and Labro) and funnel them into a 2-liter bottle of Coke (this concert), knowing full well that the result will be meteoric and magnificent. The crux of the crux is that in the case of both of Music Accord’s commissions, Julien insisted the composers write the pieces they wanted to write, rather than confining them to a theme or prompt. You’re about to witness what’s been consuming and inspiring these artists at this particular moment in time.