(++++) ASPECTS OF MASTERY

Beethoven: Piano Trios, Op. 1, Nos. 1-3; Op. 70, Nos. 1 and 2; Op. 97, “Archduke”; Ten Variations on “Ich bin der Schneider Kakadu”; Fourteen Variations in E-flat. Weiss Kaplan Stumpf Trio (Yael Weiss, piano; Mark Kaplan, violin; Peter Stumpf, cello). Bridge Records. $33.99 (3 CDs).

Beethoven: Overtures and Incidental Music—Overtures to König Stephan, The Consecration of the House, Coriolan, Egmont, Die Geschöpfe des Prometheus, Zur Namensfeier; Funeral March for “Leonore Prohaska”; “Wo sich die Pulse” from “The Consecration of the House”; Gratulations-Menuet; Meeresstille und glückliche Fahrt; Triumphal March for the Tragedy “Tarpeja.” Phyllis Bryn-Julson, soprano; Bach Society of Minnesota and Minnesota Orchestra conducted by Stanislaw Skrowaczewski. Vox. $16.99.

     So much attention is always paid to Beethoven that it is interesting to realize the extent to which the focus is on a relatively small portion of his music: symphonies, piano concertos, violin concerto, some of the string quartets, some of the piano sonatas. This is not to say that all other Beethoven music is actually neglected – although some of it is, including song settings, some choral works, the cantatas on emperors Leopold II and Joseph II, Germania, and so forth. But there are works that are not heard especially often yet are not entirely unknown, such as the piano trios. So when there is a particularly compelling performance of these pieces – such as the Weiss Kaplan Stumpf Trio’s new recording on Bridge Records – it comes as something of a revelation, giving the music a “wow” factor that may be missing in even the best performances of Beethoven’s extremely well-known works.

     Yael Weiss, Mark Kaplan and Peter Stumpf deliver absolutely first-rate readings of six trios and two sets of variations – not all the trios, despite the CDs’ assertion that this is a complete set, but the majority of them. The performances are remarkably cogent and are distinguished throughout by exemplary playing befitting the time periods in which the music was written. These are all works of early Beethoven (Op. 1 and the variations in E-flat) or the composer’s middle period (Opp. 70 and 97 and the “Kakadu” variations, which were apparently composed long before they were published in 1816 – by which time the composer had amended and updated them). As with the piano concertos, there are no late-period examples of Beethoven’s piano trios, which is a shame; but what works we do have are highly effective and, again like the piano concertos, can be revelatory of changes in the composer’s thinking and style if heard chronologically. The three Op. 1 trios are full of Mozartean elements and are characterized by delicacy and careful balance among the instruments – with the cello gaining more independence than was usual in Mozart’s chamber music (and Haydn’s, which these trios also reflect). The two Op. 70 works have a fuller sense of ensemble and show a greater willingness to seek uncommon sonorities and carefully managed interplay of instruments, most strikingly in the famous second movement of Op. 70, No. 1, whose eerie sound led to this trio being labeled “Ghost.” The final and most-famous trio, the Op. 97 “Archduke,” is spun out at greater length and gives the piano more prominence than it receives in the earlier works – a circumstance of which Weiss wisely does not take full advantage, since the two modern Steinways used in these recordings do not mesh entirely well with the performers’ 1685 Stradivari violin and 1642 Amati cello. Throughout the release, the musicians provide excellent ensemble playing and equally fine and well-thought-out handling of solo passages – their give-and-take, so crucial in the best chamber-music performances, is everywhere apparent. To their credit, the players vary their approach and even, to some extent, their sound to accommodate the differences among these pieces – the “Kakadu” variations, for example, are conveyed with enthusiasm and joy that help make up for the unevenness of their content.

     As fine as these performances are, the presentation of the three-CD recording is puzzling. It would have been easy, given the performances’ timing, to offer the trios chronologically: Op. 1, Nos. 1 and 2 with the E-flat variations on one disc; Op. 1, No. 3 and Op. 70, No. 1, plus the “Kakadu” variations, on a second; and Op. 70, No. 2 with Op. 97 on the third. The actual packaging, though, puts Op. 70, No. 1 and Op. 1, No. 1 with the “Kakadu” variations between them on the first disc; Op. 1, No. 2 and Op. 97 on the second; and Op. 1, No. 3 and Op. 70, No. 2 with the E-flat variations between them on the third. This in no way detracts from the quality of the performances, but it is a presentation mishmash for no discernible reason. As for the release claiming to be “complete,” that is flat-out incorrect: omitted are the piano-trio version of the “Gassenhauer” trio (Op. 11), the 1803 trio version of Symphony  No. 2, the Op. 38 trio arrangement of the Septet, the early trio WoO 38, and a few small pieces. Again, none of this diminishes the quality of what the Weiss Kaplan Stumpf Trio does offer – all of which is music-making of the highest quality – but there is certainly more of this repertoire out there to be explored, and it is even less-known than what is offered here. The positive spin on this is that there is an opportunity for Weiss, Kaplan and Stumpf to explore Beethoven piano trios even further if they are so inclined.

     It is not only Beethoven’s chamber music that contains infrequently heard works: his theatrical compositions are in many ways even less familiar. But some performers started trying decades ago to bring more of Beethoven’s stage music to audiences. As far back as 1980, conductor Stanislaw Skrowaczewski (1923-2017) led the Minnesota Orchestra in a series of finely honed performances of various pieces that even today are encountered none too often. A Vox re-release of some of Skrowaczewski’s readings is a fascinating mixture of pieces heard often, not too often, and virtually not at all. Six of Beethoven’s 11 overtures are included, including the very rarely played Zur Namensfeier while omitting the four Fidelio overtures and The Ruins of Athens. In all these works, Skrowaczewski paces the music expertly and gives just the right level of attention to orchestral balance and to the inherent drama, lyricism, or stateliness (depending on the work) that Beethoven includes. The Handelian grandeur of The Consecration of the House and the high drama of Egmont are especially compelling here. Among the genuine rarities, Beethoven’s beautifully balanced 1815 setting of Goethe’s two short poems, Meeresstille und glückliche Fahrt (“Becalmed at Sea and Prosperous Voyage”) is a standout, its relationship to Mendelssohn’s 1828 concert overture quite clear but its voice quite distinct – and not merely because it is a short cantata rather than a purely instrumental piece. The other vocal work here, Wo sich die Pulse from The Consecration of the House, is of lesser interest but is still a solid setting for soprano and chorus of some rather drab celebratory text. There are no hidden gems among the remaining short pieces, or at least no precious ones – but certainly the material is semi-precious and deserving of more than the near-total obscurity in which all these works continue to subsist today. Beethoven in his totality was more than his best-known works would indicate – even though they certainly deserve their canonic status. But as with others of the greatest composers, it is salutary from time to time to search for musical highlights that could somehow have been missed over the years; and even in the absence of anything outstanding, there is something reassuring in knowing that the creators of musical masterpieces did not create only those masterworks. The finding reinforces the reality that those who produce transcendent art are, after all, only human, although at some level they are better-attuned than most people to the best in all of us.

(++++) ABOVE ALL, GRANDEUR

Bruckner: Symphony No. 1. Altomonte Orchester St. Florian conducted by Rémy Ballot. Gramola. $24.99 (SACD).

Bruckner: Symphony No. 2. Altomonte Orchester St. Florian conducted by Rémy Ballot. Gramola. $28.99 (2 SACDs).

     The 2024 bicentennial of Bruckner’s birth has served, among other things, to cement the notion of an abyss between conductors who look for lighter, more Schubertian approaches to Bruckner’s symphonies and those who see them as grand-scale cathedrals of sound to be built sumptuously to towering heights. Mario Venzago and some others are on the “lighter” side of Bruckner interpretation; at the opposite end of the scale are conductors such as Rémy Ballot. The intriguing thing about Bruckner’s symphonies is that they work so well in either approach to interpretation – although questions about which version of which symphony to conduct also figure into the complicated equation.

     Ballot has been conducting one Bruckner symphony per year with the Altomonte Orchester St. Florian since 2013, with the exception of 2020 – a pandemic-related interruption of the project. The symphonies have been performed in no logical order and then offered as live recordings on the Gramola label. The series of nine is now complete – there seem to be no plans for Ballot to conduct No. “0” or the very early F minor “Study” symphony. Ballot’s versions of Nos. 1 and 2 certainly cement his position as the prime advocate of Bruckner writ large – indeed, as large as possible.

     For Symphony No. 1, Ballot chooses the late “Vienna” version of 1891 rather than the more-often-heard 1877 “Linz” version (which, to complicate matters as so often happens with Bruckner, was actually prepared in Vienna). While Venzago zips through the symphony in a very fleet 44 minutes, Ballot is nearly 50% slower at almost 64. As a result, the Venzago and Ballot performances neatly bookend the concept of lighter, speedier Bruckner on the one hand, and grander, slower Bruckner on the other. Bruckner aficionados without a strong absolutist commitment to one approach or the other will surely want to own both.

     Ballot starts out the symphony in a manner as expansive as always, the anticipatory marchlike beat leading into the first forte passage being very clear. The music is presented as if Bruckner and the audience have all the time in the world for it to unfold. The themes bloom with the inevitability of flowers, the sectional balance is superb, and the overall sound is warmly lyrical. There is an inevitability to the musical flow, a sound more like late Bruckner than earlier Bruckner – which tends to be more episodic. Ballot is expert at knitting the sections of the movement together so it does not sound disjointed. The movement is slow by clock time but does not feel that way, since Ballot maintains a clear rhythmic pulse throughout. The second movement is a very broad and expansive Adagio, with lower strings setting a firm foundation above which a brass-led edifice is constructed. The beauty of the themes shines forth at this pace, and the movement grows naturally, meandering somewhat as if on a pastoral walk. There is remarkable cohesion in the orchestra. The lighter touches from woodwinds neatly set off the underlying seriousness of the material, and the movement has none of the stop-and-start characteristics that appear in some later Bruckner slow movements. What it does have is a sense of questing, perhaps of climbing to heights – but there is no urgency to the effort and there is plenty of time to take in the scenery. The brass chorale near the movement’s end has the sensation of attaining a peak, or of the sun suddenly emerging from behind clouds.

     The third movement is broad but not especially slow, although perhaps not Schnell as it is marked. It is slightly ponderous, but in return is quite rhythmically emphatic. The evenness of tempo is a big plus, as are the excellent horns. The Trio provides strong contrast, with considerably greater delicacy, and then fades away for the return of the Scherzo – leading to a satisfactorily dramatic close. The finale, the longest movement by a considerable amount, is somewhat episodic. It strides forth strongly, then lapses into much more delicate territory, which Ballot explores at length, giving a feeling of breadth. The first, inevitable pause, after three-and-a-half minutes, ushers in a chamber-music-like attentiveness to detail that is almost Mahlerian in its use of the orchestra, with Ballot shaping each section's contribution with consummate care. Thereafter the ebb and flow of full-orchestra and sectional material progresses naturally, albeit with a certain lack of forward progress that is more apparent because of Ballot's tempo choices. The playing is very beautiful, but the pacing does accentuate a certain lack of cohesion in the movement, even though Bruckner modified it for this late version of the symphony. Ballot explores individual sections with great skill, but the movement never quite hangs together – a matter of its compositional structure that could indeed be somewhat ameliorated with a bit more speed. That said, the buildup toward the climax, starting five minutes before the end, is impressively and effectively managed, and the conclusion itself has a monumental quality befitting any of Bruckner's symphonies.

     Symphony No. 2 is a more-substantial work, and one that Ballot stretches to very considerable length: it is usually around a 70-minute piece – 71 minutes under Georg Tintner in the 1872 version (Venzago uses the shorter 1877 version and conducts it in 56). Ballot’s pacing of this symphony is so grand, almost grandiose, that it does not fit on a single disc: it runs 85 minutes. But of course the speed does not tell the whole story – what matters is how well the overall conception works. In the first movement, the opening gives no hint of just how expansive the performance will become – but as soon as the second theme emerges, the pace becomes very relaxed, leisurely, and quite Schubertian. This work’s nickname, "symphony of pauses," fits very well here, since Ballot does not hesitate to take the indicated full stops and even extend them a bit into pauses-with-fermatas. This certainly creates a somewhat episodic feeling, but it also allows the highlighting of individual sections of the music, almost as if multiple miniature tone poems have been strung together into a tonal tapestry larger than the sum of its parts. The sheer scale, the monumental nature of the symphony, comes through – but the delicacy and lyrical beauty of the playing keep the movement from ever seeming ponderous. Again and again, a section rises to a climax, and again and again, Bruckner stops to consider matters from a different perspective; and Ballot provides unerring guidance on the journey, abetted by exceptionally fine sound. One advantage of this approach is the way it moves toward climactic passages at a deliberate pace so they become all the more compelling when they arrive, as is especially apparent at the movement’s conclusion. The Scherzo is placed second – Bruckner later switched it to third, provoking some of the same issues associated with the movement sequence in Mahler’s Symphony No. 6. In any case, Ballot’s handling of the Scherzo is not really Schnell as marked, but once the audience adjusts to the pace, the movement becomes another carefully structured part of the edifice being assembled. The detail of the string playing is excellent, and the warmth of the brass is notable. The trio is marked to be played at the same speed, and the pacing actually works better here than for the main body of the movement, without the lumbering quality of the Scherzo and with plenty of time to enjoy the lyrical expansiveness of the strings. As a result, the tempo at the return of the Scherzo actually sounds more reasonable after the conclusion of the Trio. And the timpani accents are particularly effective near the movement's end.

     The solemnity (Feierlich) indicated for the third movement is very much in evidence in Ballot’s performance. The movement is very relaxed from the start, with clear echoes of Schubert and a great feeling of spaciousness. There is clarity of melodic line plus fine sectional balance: it feels as if it will slow to stasis but never quite does. Ballot spins the music out in longer and longer lines, allowing the woodwind and brass touches to bring the strings into high relief. The pizzicato strings' contrast with the rounded brass sound is particularly well done. The movement builds very gradually in volume and intensity, as if Bruckner has all the time that anyone could possibly need to erect this sonic structure. Even the fades to silence are carefully paced to add to the overall effect. And then comes the finale, which immediately starts building with considerable drama. Again and again, Ballot produces anticipation of still greater intensity to come. But what actually emerges is a beautifully flowing sylvan line of pastoral simplicity, in which strings glide along as if carried on the gentle waves of a stream – after which Ballot reintroduces the more strongly emphasized material so as to maximize the differences between thematic groups. And so the movement progresses as a series of carefully staged contrasts, periodically interrupted by a full stop, as if to provide respite from the back-and-forth elements. Despite the strength of some portions of the movement, the primary impression here is one of gentleness, a kind of spreading warmth that Ballot spins out at length. The movement does tend to sprawl, especially at this pace, but the care with which it is structured is everywhere in evidence. And the climactic final three minutes encapsulate the whole symphony. Strong rhythms, great intensity, full stops, delicate winds, massed brass – all these are present and marshalled for a truly grand conclusion.

     There is no one “right” way to conduct Bruckner or, for that matter, to listen to his symphonies. Ballot’s handling of these works has proved consistently excellent for a decade – and internally consistent in its approach to every one of the symphonies. By virtue of its very deliberate speed, the Ballot approach does exist at something of an extreme in Bruckner interpretation. But again and again, clock time becomes irrelevant as Ballot marshals his forces to explore and elucidate the emotional and performance intricacies with which Bruckner packed all his symphonies. The Ballot cycle is a highly impressive achievement by any standards – a monumental accomplishment fully worthy of the celebration of the bicentennial of a composer whose music, like so much other great art, can be interpreted and reinterpreted again and again without anyone ever coming up with an unattainable perfection of presentation.

(++++) KNIGHTY-KNIGHT

The Knight Snacker. By Valeria Wicker. Little, Brown. $18.99.

     The punning title here is but the start of a delightful journey into the nighttime antics of a bold, brave, adventuring little boy in a quest for that most crucial of all after-bed requirements: a good-tasting snack after a dinner that has been thoroughly unappealing. Valeria Wicker invites young readers to join Sir Julian, hero extraordinaire, after his “tummy-rumbling” hunger is disappointed at dinnertime by a concoction that his mother calls Fusion Fondue, which “looked and smelled deadly, like dragon’s ooze.” Sir Julian adeptly acts as if he is eating the monstrosity while surreptitiously dropping it onto the floor, where the family dog is quite happy to devour the whatever-it-is.

     Mission accomplished – well, mission of avoidance, anyway. But the larger mission begins at bedtime, when Sir Julian realizes he is “S-T-A-R-V-I-N-G” and absolutely must don his knightly raiment and “conquer a scrumptious snack.” The scenes of little Julian trying to be brave in the dark, when he cannot even reach the light switch, are funny and emotional (although not too emotional) at the same time: the illustrations here are digitally created but far warmer and more engaging than are many of that type. Realizing that going alone on his quest “was too risky,” Sir Julian takes along a companion – his favorite stuffed animal – and heads out of his room, only to have “a massive urge to tinkle” and therefore needing to confront a toothy, hairy, grimacing “potty monster” that is “glowing, ghoulish, and ready to gobble him up.” Anyone who thinks toilets cannot be funny really needs to see this one.

     Having succeeded in his bold bathroom break, Sir Julian continues through “the eerie hallway” and endures the approach of a “creepy monster” that turns out to be the family’s playful pup – only to find himself terrified (his hair gets very big and bristly) by a “hideous ghostly figure” just outside the window, which turns out to be “only his reflection.”

     And so the journey goes, as the brave (well, sort of brave) young knight reaches the kitchen and searches for a snack everywhere, even in “Mom’s top secret spot,” which is apparently not so secret after all. But alas, there are no snacks anywhere, “maybe from the work of a sorcerer,” and poor Julian ends up wailing a very un-knightly “NOOOO!”

     But then he realizes there must be some food in the refrigerator – and the good news is that there is. The bad news: it is Fusion Fondue leftovers. Oh no! Well, at this point “hunger was like a ferocious, five-horned, fire-breathing dragon,” so Sir Julian calls on his final reserves of bravery and actually tastes the stuff.

     And it tastes good. Oops. “Too bad he didn’t use his bravery during supper.” But better late than never, and Sir Julian, his hunger sated at last, bravely starts his return journey through the dark and dismal world of hallway and home, determined to call on his knightly prowess again the next time his mother tries a new recipe.

     Wicker does a wonderful job throughout the book with the confluence of knightly derring-do and mundane matters, and the illustrations of Sir Julian are funny and endearing at once – the cover picture of him wearing a colander, brandishing a large spoon, and carrying a soup ladle at his pajama waist perfectly encapsulates the book’s concept even before the story begins. Young readers will have a great time laughing both with Julian and at him (kindly) – perhaps seeing a bit of themselves in his nocturnal activities. And adults can use The Knight Snacker as a soft-pedaled teaching tool, urging young children to try new things, speak up if they do not like a specific food (or think they will not like it), and avoid danger-plagued nighttime food forays that require the use of colander helmets and pot-lid shields. Please.

(++++) THAT WAS THEN, THIS IS NOW

Bach: The Contest Between Phoebus and Pan, BWV 201; Trevor Weston: A New Song. Washington Bach Consort conducted by Dana Marsh. Acis. $18.99.

Eric Moe: Strenuous Pleasures; Deep Ecology; Spirit Mountain; What Instruments We Have Agree; Demon Theory; Welcome to Phase Space. Da Capo Chamber Players; counter)induction; Horszowski Trio; David Russell, cello; Elliot Riley, saxophone; Eric Moe, piano. New Focus Recordings. $16.99.

     One of Bach’s less-often-performed choral works, The Contest Between Phoebus and Pan is a secular dramatic cantata based on Ovid’s Metamorphoses – and a delightful instance of “music about music,” with perhaps a few overtones (pun intended) of satire. The story involves self-important Pan (sung by bass-baritone Ian Pomerantz) challenging the actual god of music, Apollo (bass-baritone Paul Max Tipton) to a singing contest. Each of the competitors has an advocate: for Pan, King Midas (tenor Patrick Kilbride); for Apollo, Tmolus (tenor Jacob Perry, Jr.). And there are a couple of godly commentators on the proceedings: Mercury (contralto Sarah Davis Issaelkhoury) and Momus (soprano Sherezade Panthaki). The fly in the ointment, so to speak, is that Midas is actually the judge of the contest, so he awards the prize to Pan, whose declared booster he is. But the victory is at best bittersweet for the arrogant winner, who at the end is declared to be a mere boaster unworthy of his success. Bach structures this often-amusing drama, with its underlying seriousness about music, very cleverly: the six soloists sing arias in six different keys, and the overall work uses five different rhythmic structures and five different combinations of instruments in its 15 sections. The excellent period-instrument performance by the Washington Bach Consort thoroughly captures the colors and clever conceptual elements of the work, from the celebratory, fanfare-packed opening chorus through the recitatives that carry the story along and the arias that allow each character to present viewpoints and arguments. The longest aria, lasting a full nine minutes, is given to Apollo at Largo speed, indicating the seriousness as well as the beauty of his musical standing. Pan’s presentation aria is shorter (six minutes), brighter, danceable, and critical of Apollo’s approach: “If the tune sounds too labored/ And the mouth sings constricted,/ Then this stirs up no merriment.” The opposing musical portrayals are highly effective, and the singing here makes the contrast quite clear. The entire performance is upbeat, well-balanced and sensitive to the underlying seriousness of issues that Bach and Ovid raise with a leavening of humor. The Acis CD pairs the Bach with the world première recording of A New Song by Trevor Weston (born1967), in which Weston seeks a contemporary approach to issues similar to those explored by Bach – using the instruments of Bach’s time, but with thoroughly modern harmonies and rhythms, and including three soloists (Panthaki, Issaelkhoury and Perry) with the chorus. Elements at which Bach hints with considerable subtlety, Weston makes explicit: “We want to hear luminous sounds,” “Every sound passes through my thoughts,” “The new song will reimagine the old,” “A new song speaks for me, speaks for us,” “Music records our days, helps us remember,” and so forth. The obviousness of the verbiage notwithstanding, the music represents an interesting attempt to update for a modern (and less-subtly-thinking) audience some of the themes explored by Bach. Weston’s music is well-made and intermittently interesting in its exploration of the sonorities of period instruments in a modern context, although the work as a whole is less than convincing. It is not that Bach’s (and Ovid’s) concerns cannot be updated – Weston certainly does so, but he adds little other than a comparatively contemporary sound to the arguments. In contrast, Mahler’s 1896 Wunderhorn song, Lob des hohen Verstandes, encapsulates in less than three minutes many of the same issues that Bach explored at length – and with much-more-direct humor. Weston’s piece is certainly worth hearing, but it does not fully engage listeners either musically or on an emotional level, coming across mostly as an intellectual exercise – even in a performance as well-managed as the one it receives here.

     Matters of music and its meanings are also paramount in some of the works on a (+++) New Focus Recordings release featuring chamber pieces by Eric Moe (born 1954). Unlike Weston’s work, those by Moe fall into the now-standard approach of many contemporary composers: often highly dissonant, stylistically combinatorial, and tied tightly to non-musical matters as well as some musical ones. Spirit Mountain (2010) and What Instruments We Have Agree (2015) are both memorial pieces, the former for conductor J. Karla Lemon and the latter for composer Lee Hyla. Both incorporate and expand upon specific music that listeners are unlikely to know, even if they are familiar with the people whom Moe memorializes. Both works use chamber groups mainly as collections of individual instruments rather than ensembles, with Moe mostly proffering short bursts of melody and rhythmic activity that are colored by the specific instruments playing them. The tie-in of these pieces to works directly associated with Lemon and Hyla means the music will have considerably more meaning for those who know the referents than for more-casual audiences. The other pieces on this disc refer to various non-musical matters that it is also helpful to know about for better comprehension and enjoyment of what Moe has created. Strenuous Pleasures (2010) contrasts brighter and faster multi-instrument elements with quieter ones, placing solo and duet sections against full-chamber-ensemble ones. Welcome to Phase Space (2014) is a trio (violin/cello/piano) with a somewhat Ligeti-ish evocation of interstellar vastness, based on a concept from physics. Also here are a duet and a solo work. The two-instrument work is Demon Theory (2013) for alto saxophone and piano: Moe himself is the pianist, and Elliot Riley, who commissioned the piece, is the saxophonist. This work also draws on physics in a way, referring to a thought experiment involving connected energy systems that Moe considers to be akin to the connectedness of the two instruments – a rather abstruse formulation that, like so many elements associated with Moe’s music, is best understood prior to hearing the work so as to be better able to absorb it. The solo piece here is Deep Ecology (2020) for cello (David Russell), although it is not quite a solo, since it incorporates electroacoustic material that in fact tends to dominate the instrument: the usual sounds of nature (birds, frogs, insects) intersect with those of the cello, which comments on and interweaves with them, suggesting ways in which humans interact with the rest of the world. The sonic environment of all these pieces is forthrightly contemporary, the performances committed and engaged with the material – but everything here is an illustration of or exploration of something that is not here, that is external to the music itself, that needs to be studied and understood for Moe’s works to have anything approaching the effect he wishes them to have.