Richard Cameron-Wolfe: Passionate Geometries

The human voice is prominent in Passionate Geometries, a collection of composer Richard Cameron-Wolfe’s works spanning three decades for small ensembles. Two of the featured compositions are what Cameron-Wolfe describes as “micro-operas” – brief, dramatic vocal works for a minimal number of performers. But voice in its various dimensions permeates the album and the guitar is prominent as well, as the instrument figures in no less than five of Passionate Geometries’ eight compositions.

“Micro” is indeed the word to describe Heretic, Cameron-Wolfe’s “opera” for a single performer. Guitarist Marc Wolf not only plays an intricate instrumental part, but delivers the text telling us “what’s going on here” (“here” possibly referring to the performance, possibly referring to the world at large) in a mixture of unvoiced exhalation, spoken and shouted word, and singing. The guitar part is fragmentary yet technically difficult, a difficulty no doubt compounded by the guitarist’s having to fill the dramatic vocal role as well.

One of the album’s highlights is the duo O Minstrel, a setting of a text by Fakhruddin Iraqi, the 13th century Sufi poet. This is another work for guitar and voice, albeit of a more conventional sort. Here the guitarist is Daniel Lippel, joined by soprano Stephanie Lamprea. Cameron-Wolfe structured the piece as a dialogue between the two performers, with Lamprea taking the lead and Lippel nimbly responding. The timbral contrast between Lamprea’s liquidly sung lines and the spikier sounds of the nylon-string guitar lend the piece a dramatic tension.

A similar dynamic is at work on Kyrie (Mantra) IV, another standout piece. This duet for flute and guitar is played by flutist Roberta Michel with Lippel on guitar once again. Like the other compositions on Passionate Geometries this is a demanding virtuoso piece. Cameron-Wolfe has Michel bending and slurring notes suggesting the sound of a shakuhachi; overblowing; playing multiphonics and voiced notes; and further drawing on a rich vocabulary of extended techniques. Lippel responds with his own repertoire of extended playing, leveraging tapping, left-handed plucking, snap pizzicato, and harmonics that foreground the staccato precision of the nylon-string guitar’ articulation. Cameron-Wolfe originally wrote the piece for prepared piano; the essence of that instrument’s perverse percussiveness is effectively conveyed by the guitar part in particular.

Mirage d’Esprit is an intriguing microtonal work for four guitars tuned to yield an octave of 48 equal divisions. The guitars’ tunings produce strange choric effects, creating harmonies that can be disorienting at times, but not to worry: as the spoken interjection in the middle of the piece asserts, “it is real.” Telesthesia is another work for four instruments of the same type, this time cellos. The episodic work was written in memory of a friend of the composer’s; it blends movingly somber harmonies with extended instrumental techniques as well as wordless vocal gestures.

Passionate Geometries also includes the title composition, a “micro-opera” for soprano, flute, guitar, and cello; Lonesome Dove for solo tenor saxophone, dancer, and moveable screen; and Time Refracted, for cello and piano.

— Daniel Barbiero, 7.04.2024

There is abundant imagination in these eight chamber works by Richard Cameron-Wolfe but sometimes a winding path to appreciating them. In his composer’s note he makes clear that this is a legacy project spanning three decades from 1992 almost to the present. During that time, Cameron-Wolfe laid down long experience with micro-operas, a new term to me. The three examples offered here feature only a solo singer (sometimes not even a singer), which pushes the boundary of what we typically call an opera, although there is a famous precedent, Poulenc’s La voix humaine. Also unusual are two quartets creating their own sound worlds, one for four guitars, the other for four cellos. Most examples in the genre consist of arrangements.

All of this will intrigue general listeners who possess some curiosity. What makes things more difficult is that Cameron-Wolfe belongs to the experimental wing of New Music, which leads to a challenging listen unless you are willing to go wherever his ear leads, however strangely. In the case of Heretic, the first micro-opera on the program, many performers resisted what Cameron-Wolfe calls a “cursed” piece. “Heretic, commissioned and composed in 1994, [was] rejected by its commissioner and a nearly 20-year procession of other guitarists.”

One reason for rejection is that the score calls upon the guitarist to multitask as an actor, vocalist, and percussionist. The enthusiasm of Marc Wolf for these overlapping roles led him to serve as Heretic’s editor, arriving by stages at the current 2023 version. If you let Heretic roll over you passively, it is quite accessible. That’s not true if you attempt to penetrate the libretto, which is abstract and full of quixotic changes. The central character, the Heretic, plays off other personas—Someone Else, Entity that has “invaded” the Heretic—all three uttering a disconnected stream of free associations.

I appreciate the composer’s sincere efforts to explain his intentions, but confusion seems to be the point. (“Is [the Heretic] performing or rehearsing? Is he communicating with us? … Are we only imagined by the Heretic? Or are we voyeurs, watching through a one-way glass?”) I regret remaining in the dark, because Wolf gives a bravura performance, and the guitar part per se is quite appealing. We move into the terrain of multi-media with Lonesome Dove: A True Story, which has no story and defies the label of micro-opera since there is no vocalist—the scoring is for “tenor saxophonist, watcher, and portable darkness.”

In essence this is music for a dancer and unaccompanied saxophone (Geoff Landman). Deprived of visuals, we sparingly hear footsteps and strange vocals from the “watcher” or breathy gestures from the saxophone. The libretto can be quoted in full. “Squawk… squawk, squawk/ Hmm… scream… scream grrrrrrrr… grrrr, grrrrrrr / No, I am alone.” Your response will depend on an appetite for pure experimentalism, but the tenor sax part makes agreeable listening. The third micro-opera is the title work, Passionate Geometries, the only example that employs a conventional singer (soprano Nina Berman), accompanied by a small ensemble of flute, guitar, and cello.

In Cameron-Wolfe’s conception, the piece revolves around the singer’s aspiration for a poetic life as expressed through interactions, “collisions as well as embraces,” between the performers. In their way the instrumentalists are onstage characters. The libretto is adapted from an early poem by the composer, again in free-association mode. But thanks to his ingenious writing for the four participants, Passionate Geometries is a success at communicating itself expressively—my attention was held throughout.

As is evident by now, it takes a lot of words just to set down basic descriptions of some very disparate works, and I’ll be brief from now on. The guitar features prominently in five of the eight works on the program. The most intimate are two duos. O Minstrel for soprano and guitar, described as “songs from the cantata ‘Breathless.’” The text is based on Sufi poetry. Purely instrumental is Kyrie(Mantra)IV for flute and guitar, the fourth variant of a solo flute piece dating back to 1972. Both duos are atmospheric and evocative.

The underpinning of the guitar quartet Mirage d’esprit is technical. “In this work, I made the transition from using microtones as a resource of expressive nuance to fully creating a work with a microtonal pitch-set of 48-EDO (48 equal divisions of the octave).” The spare, transparent interplay of plucked microtones, which at times faintly echo Indian classical music, becomes the core experience, since no formal plan is readily detected, but there are also cries of “This is real,” “Go!”, etc., along with thumps on the guitar case. The effect lies somewhere between incomprehensibility and the entertainingly outré (not a bad way to encapsulate the entire album).

The cello features in three works, including a cello quartet with the cryptic title Telesthesia: 13 episodes/deliberations on multi-planar syzygy. The explanation involves a close friend in northern New Mexico who died in 2019, after which Cameron-Wolfe had many sighting of him in spectral form, one might say. The cello’s voice is naturally elegiac, which this work takes eloquent advantage of in tonal harmonies while creating another face through ghostly intimations that employ wordless vocalizing and extended instrumental techniques.

They are familiar parts of the composer’s toolbox, which he turns to new uses from piece to piece. I found myself being immediately involved in Telesthesia, appreciating it as a moving memorial as well as musically captivating. I hope it enters the repertoire of contemporary cello ensembles—it deserves to. The performance by the Antwerp Cello Quartet is exemplary, which holds true for all of the top-flight musicians here.

Nothing on the program is less than arresting, inventive, and original. One also has the sense that Cameron-Wolfe lives like a musician without borders as a pianist, teacher, writer, theorist, and musical ambassador to faraway places. It sounds like a heady existence, not to mention that on more than one occasion he has played Satie’s 24-hour Vexations for piano. As a legacy album, this one serves its purpose admirably.

Four stars: Disparate chamber works from a long, highly original career

— Huntley Dent, 7.24.2024

The primary characteristic of chamber music, for many centuries, was intimacy: works for small ensembles were sometimes intended as unobtrusive indoor or outdoor background music, sometimes planned as meaningful ways to engage listeners located in a suitably small indoor listening area, and always designed to provide a more-intimate experience than works for larger instrumental groups offered. The mostly quiet beauty of well-made chamber music is as engaging today as it must have been when created centuries ago, as is clear from the excellent performances of flute-focused chamber works by Luigi Boccherini (1743-1805) on a new AVIE recording. There are eight works in all on this two-CD set, seven by Boccherini and one attributed to him and sharing the charm and poise of those known to be genuine. The primary material here consists of six two-movement Quintetti, Op. 19. They are for flute, two violins, viola, and cello, and give considerable prominence to the flute and somewhat lesser but still noticeable material to the cello, which was Boccherini’s own instrument and which he may well have played in these pieces when the works were new (they date to 1774). The quintets skillfully progress through five different keys: E-flat, G minor, C, D, B-flat, and again D. Sally Walker is the central performer of these works, or at least the one highlighted in the recording, but in fact the works’ poise and balance mean that even when the flute is quite prominent, the remaining instruments have quite an important role to play – the cello’s being a bit more significant than that of the others, especially in Nos. 3 and 4, where Thomas Marlin is called on for considerable virtuosity and produces it in fine period style and with considerable panache. Unsurprisingly, the most dramatic of these generally easygoing pieces is No. 2, whose minor key gives it more darkness and weight than the other pieces receive, particularly in the first movement – although this is certainly nothing close to the intensity that Mozart brought to the same key in the same time period (Mozart’s Symphony No. 25 dates to 1773). The last of these pieces, No. 6, is called Las parejas (“The Couples”) and opens particularly interestingly, with each string instrument playing in octaves. All the performers handle the inherently cooperative nature of chamber music of this time period with sensitivity and skill, blending well as an ensemble and standing out whenever a single instrument is given a brief opportunity to shine – the only extensive such opportunities, however, being reserved for the flute and cello. Boccherini’s skill in chamber music including flute also shows clearly in the so-called Sestetto primo for flute, bassoon, horn, violin, viola, and double bass – an intriguing work taken from a set called Sei Notturni (two of them unfortunately now lost). This is a three-movement piece in E-flat that is notable for the exceptionally careful balance that Boccherini brings to the three winds against the three strings, all the while maintaining the flute’s prominence. The second movement, Allegro ma non presto, is a real charmer. This thoroughly engaging release concludes with a Quintetto for flute, oboe, violin, viola, and cello that is of uncertain provenance but attributed to Boccherini. Whatever its origin, it is a work that certainly shares the charms and delicacies of the other pieces offered here, and it brings out the same level of cooperative skill that the performers confer upon the rest of these unusually pleasant pieces.

Boccherini’s music also stands out in the fourth MSR Classics collection of delightful performances of delightful trios from the 18th century, courtesy of the period-instrument ensemble The Vivaldi Project. Although Boccherini’s Trio in C minor, Op. 4, No. 2 lasts just 14 minutes, it is the longest of the seven pieces on the disc – an indication of the modest scale of all the discoveries and rediscoveries here. As in several of his works including flute, Boccherini here offers a nominally balanced piece that in fact tilts heavily (or rather, in terms of the pleasant nature of the music, lightly) toward the cello, which dominates through much of the three-movement work and helps emphasize its dark but scarcely gloomy minor-key character: this is one of a set of six trios and the only one written in the minor. Interestingly, minor-key material is more prominent on this CD than on the prior ones, making the disc somewhat more thoughtful (if not really darker) than the three previous volumes. F minor is the most-heard key here, being the home key of the two-movement Sonata, Op. 1, No. 6 by Maddalena Lombardini Sirmen (1745-1818) and the three-movement Trio, Op. 5, No. 6 by Simon Leduc (1742-1777), whose name also appears as Le Duc and who is somewhat confusingly known as “l’Ainé” (the old) to distinguish him from his younger brother, Pierre (“le Jeune,” the young). In addition, F minor is the key of the rather melancholy Trio in the second movement of the unusually serious two-movement Sonata, B. 40 by Johann Christian Bach (1735-1782). Although none of these composers plumbs any significant depths in these generally pleasant (even when darker-hued) works, the minor-key material does nicely balance the still-dominant brighter and lighter material in the major that dominates here as in The Vivaldi Project’s first three CDs. The balance is especially interesting in the music of Sirmen, some of which the performers also offered in Volume 3. Here Sirmen provides the bookends for the recording, with her F minor work opening the CD and a more-substantial and especially well-balanced three-movement Trio in B-flat closing it. The attentive and historically informed handling of all the music is a major strength of this disc, as of the previous entries in the series. Interestingly, a three-movement Divertimento in G, H.V:20, by Haydn, fits quite neatly into this set of works by lesser and/or less-known composers: Haydn here proves, yet again, how adept he was at crafting perfectly poised and beautifully balanced material for specific instrumental groups without overdoing either technique or emotional content. All the pieces on this CD were created from the 1750s to the 1770s, with the latest being the three-movement Trio in G, Op. 11, No. 3 by Joseph Schmitt (1734-1791). This dates to 1778 and shares the charm and easy elegance of the other pieces heard here without in any way advancing the form of the string trio or trying to make it any more (or less) expressive. The Vivaldi Project’s always-assured performances make all these Classical-era trifles a joy to hear, and if nothing on the disc is a substantial piece, neither is anything unworthy of being rediscovered and played again and again.

In the 21st century, chamber music is often considerably more ambitious than it was in the 18th, and is only rarely created as any sort of “background” material. Today’s composers tend to use reduced-size ensembles to make specific points that they feel are better communicated with fewer performers. Richard Cameron-Wolfe (born 1943), for example, creates some chamber works for only one performer, but expects that individual to assume multiple roles. A New Focus Recordings release of Cameron-Wolfe’s chamber music leads off with just such a piece: Heretic, which the composer labels a “micro-opera” in which he collaborates with a visual artist, videographer and writer. This type of piece lasts five to 15 minutes and is designed to be staged in a small space, which certainly echoes the “chamber” part of “chamber music.” But the effect of a piece such as Heretic is quite different from that of more-traditional chamber music. Marc Wolf performs it as narrator, vocal artist, guitar player and percussionist, and even without the visual element – inevitably absent in CD form – it is clear that this is intended as a dramatic play with music, using wordless effects as well as spoken text along with the instrumental material. The CD contains another “micro-opera” called Lonesome Dove: a True Story, featuring Geoff Landman on tenor saxophone and Umber Qureshi as the “watcher,” a role invisible in this recording but clearly integral to the bird-observing experience that Cameron-Wolfe seeks to illustrate both visually and with the usual techniques of avant-garde musical production. Virtually all the works on this (+++) recording have theatrical elements. Time Retracted for cello and piano was designed for dancers. Mirage d’esprit for guitar quartet uses microtonal tuning and requires technique that would be highly watchable in performance. O minstrel for soprano and guitar is part of a chamber cantata and is unusually attentive to the text for a work in strongly contemporary guise. Telesthesia: 13 episodes/deliberations on multi-planar syzygy for cello quartet is one of those deliberately over-titled pieces whose overstuffed name is attached to some surprisingly moving string writing – the piece is a memorial written after the death of a friend of the composer. Kyrie(Mantra)IV is another of those overdone-title works so common in the oeuvre of many modern composers, and features flute-and-guitar scoring that gives the constant impression of electronic amplification even when none is present. And Passionate Geometries for soprano, flute, guitar, and cello, using a text by Cameron-Wolfe himself, rather unconvincingly attempts to explore the mind of an angst-ridden poet with writer’s block – a cliché if there ever was one. Cameron-Wolfe’s insistent theatricality is more distinctive than any specific compositional style in these pieces, which collectively and individually blend into a kind of modernistic assemblage that is similar to the work of many other composers who may wish to be forward-looking but who effectively merely look askance at the traditions of chamber-music creation and performance without really expanding them in any meaningful way.

— Mark Estren, 8.29.2024

Richard Cameron-Wolfe is probably best known for his micro-operas – powerful pocket-size, single-movement pieces for solo, duet or small ensemble combinations that explore musical, cognitive and dramatic dissonances through the lens of the composer’s hard-hitting atonal and microtonal style.

Passionate Geometries is bookended by two of these micro-operas. The first, Heretic, revolves around a dysfunctional dialogue between solo guitar and the performer’s own voice (both elements impressively coordinated on this recording by Marc Wolf), where vocal and instrumental fragments combine to generate wildly contrasting moods and gestures – from relaxed and friendly to fractious, frenzied and chaotic. Think Elliott Carter on Quaaludes to get a general sense of the music’s impact.

The title-track, for soprano, flute, guitar and cello, offers a more muted and withdrawn take on Cameron-Wolfe’s micro-operatic aesthetic. Even when writing for ensemble, however, Cameron-Wolfe builds his material around solo statements and duet combinations. The music is often at its most effective when the soloist becomes entangled in a kind of schizophrenic soliloquy with itself (as happens in Heretic) or where subject and object are pitted against one another.

A sinister and uneasy undertow lurks beneath the surface of Time Refracted for cello and piano – its title reflected in ticking clock-like oscillations and uneasy, shifting patterns – while echoes of Wagner’s Tristan chord hover stubbornly, like a dark cloud, over the musical landscape of O minstrel for soprano and guitar.

Cameron-Wolfe’s music is perhaps less effective when the focus is on group dynamics rather than dramatic conflict. Such moments are encountered in the microtonal Mirage d’esprit and fragmentary Telesthesia, for guitar and cello quartets respectively, where sonic weirdness takes precedence over substance and content. Nevertheless, with eye-catching contributions from soprano Stephanie Lamprea in O minstrel, flautist Roberta Michel in Kyrie(Mantra)IV, saxophonist Geoff Landman in Lonesome Dove: A True Story (another Cameron-Wolfe micro-opera) and the ever-present Dan Lippel on guitar, Passionate Geometries provides a timely overview of the chamber output of this under-the-radar composer, forming an excellent companion album to An Inventory of Damaged Goods, issued on the Furious Artisans label in 2018.

— Pwyll ap Siôn, 11.10.2024