FRANK STEMPER, COMPOSER
Le Maître Du Marteau (2009)
for accordion and eight instruments [10 mins.]
PREMIERED 31 March 2010 by the Altgeld Chamber Players, Christopher Morehouse - conductor
OUTSIDE THE BOX new music festival by the festival ensemble
Opus 67 — A.S.C.A.P. work I.D. 881302948
SCORE
OUTSIDE THE BOX new music festival by the festival ensemble
Opus 67 — A.S.C.A.P. work I.D. 881302948
SCORE
NOTES (from the premiere)
Le Maître Du Marteau (2009)
flute, clarinet, bass clarinet, alto sax, horn, tuba, accordion, piano and percussion – 10 minutes
Frank Stemper
My mother died last spring, and I have been trying to figure out why I reacted by spending three months composing music for accordion and eight instruments. And such a rock’em sock’em piece, my mother was a very gentle person. She was a real “lady;” polite, motherly, quiet (except for the hilarious murmurs under her breath), and gentle. This was not, however, true when she sang: She was a Jazz singer with a huge voice. She ALWAYS stopped the room and got everyone’s attention, and, upon finishing a song she’d almost always get a howling ovation. (Unlike whenever my music is played, and the audience claps politely and then avoids making eye contact with me as they slither out of the concert hall.) So maybe this piece is my mother’s huge voice, which she used to belt out tunes and discipline her seven kids.
But why the accordion? I do remember her singing along with the strolling accordion player that she hired to perform at one of my sister’s weddings, but that really was only one instance of her singing with an accordion. Although, I guess the accordion might have something to do with my Milwaukee roots, Polka bands at Polish weddings, most of which I attended as a kid with my folks, probably dancing with my mom at some point during the party. But still – an accordion, in such a serious, gutsy atmosphere?
No, after some self-examination, I think I finally know what this piece is all about – we can hear it in the opening two sounds: BAM-BAM followed by practically nothing – just a sustained accordion, marked flat linein the score. I not only loved my parents, but I liked them and they liked me. We were adult friends: joking, drinking, playing bridge. I teased my father constantly about being a complex ridden psychiatrist and a lousy golfer or just because he was skinny and mostly full of boloney. He teased me back – gave as good as he got – better, actually. For nearly my whole life, until last spring, I was my mother’s accompanist. I giggedwith my mother, performing with one or another of her bands or often just the two of us, not just bars and nightclubs, but sometimes big halls, as well as every time I went home - in the parlor. She was always petrified before she sang; but then she’d hit the first big note and BAM-BAM: all was right with the world. This “professional” collaboration started when I was pretty young: I can remember getting dragged out of bed when I was 11 or 12 in order to accompany her during a party (me in my jamies, my parents and their friends in bourbon and gin). We did our final tune on Easter Sunday a week before she died, I think it was LOVER MAN (Oh Where Can You Be?): she was almost 90 and deeply ruined by Alzheimer’s and couldn’t remember the words, but her pitch and, especially, rhythm were still absolutely perfect. She had to die to lose those gifts. So I guess I miss my parents – a whole lifetime of camaraderie and BAM-BAM: nothing, flat line.
Just after my father died, around 12 years ago, I had a similar experience: for no reason at all I set two Shakespeare LOVE sonnets for choir with piano solo, By Night My Mind (1998). Not only was this composition not a commission, it is very difficult and, because of that, has never been performed, although there’s a good chance that I’ll finally get to hear it next year performed by a choir in NYC. I guess I’m lucky to have something to do when things aren’t going so well: Dad dies – write some music; Mother dies – write some music. Well here’s the music: Le Maître Du Marteau. The title is a play on one of my favorite chamber ensemble pieces, Pierre Boulez’ Le Marteau Sans Maître (The Hammer Without a Master). In my piece, the hammer has a master: my mom – BAM-BAM; she took a French class in the 1950’s and, even though she didn’t get very good at it, always called me François.
Oh yeah, I think the flat line accordion is anyone who is left behind by the death of loved ones: BAM-BAM.
Le Maître Du Marteau (2009)
flute, clarinet, bass clarinet, alto sax, horn, tuba, accordion, piano and percussion – 10 minutes
Frank Stemper
My mother died last spring, and I have been trying to figure out why I reacted by spending three months composing music for accordion and eight instruments. And such a rock’em sock’em piece, my mother was a very gentle person. She was a real “lady;” polite, motherly, quiet (except for the hilarious murmurs under her breath), and gentle. This was not, however, true when she sang: She was a Jazz singer with a huge voice. She ALWAYS stopped the room and got everyone’s attention, and, upon finishing a song she’d almost always get a howling ovation. (Unlike whenever my music is played, and the audience claps politely and then avoids making eye contact with me as they slither out of the concert hall.) So maybe this piece is my mother’s huge voice, which she used to belt out tunes and discipline her seven kids.
But why the accordion? I do remember her singing along with the strolling accordion player that she hired to perform at one of my sister’s weddings, but that really was only one instance of her singing with an accordion. Although, I guess the accordion might have something to do with my Milwaukee roots, Polka bands at Polish weddings, most of which I attended as a kid with my folks, probably dancing with my mom at some point during the party. But still – an accordion, in such a serious, gutsy atmosphere?
No, after some self-examination, I think I finally know what this piece is all about – we can hear it in the opening two sounds: BAM-BAM followed by practically nothing – just a sustained accordion, marked flat linein the score. I not only loved my parents, but I liked them and they liked me. We were adult friends: joking, drinking, playing bridge. I teased my father constantly about being a complex ridden psychiatrist and a lousy golfer or just because he was skinny and mostly full of boloney. He teased me back – gave as good as he got – better, actually. For nearly my whole life, until last spring, I was my mother’s accompanist. I giggedwith my mother, performing with one or another of her bands or often just the two of us, not just bars and nightclubs, but sometimes big halls, as well as every time I went home - in the parlor. She was always petrified before she sang; but then she’d hit the first big note and BAM-BAM: all was right with the world. This “professional” collaboration started when I was pretty young: I can remember getting dragged out of bed when I was 11 or 12 in order to accompany her during a party (me in my jamies, my parents and their friends in bourbon and gin). We did our final tune on Easter Sunday a week before she died, I think it was LOVER MAN (Oh Where Can You Be?): she was almost 90 and deeply ruined by Alzheimer’s and couldn’t remember the words, but her pitch and, especially, rhythm were still absolutely perfect. She had to die to lose those gifts. So I guess I miss my parents – a whole lifetime of camaraderie and BAM-BAM: nothing, flat line.
Just after my father died, around 12 years ago, I had a similar experience: for no reason at all I set two Shakespeare LOVE sonnets for choir with piano solo, By Night My Mind (1998). Not only was this composition not a commission, it is very difficult and, because of that, has never been performed, although there’s a good chance that I’ll finally get to hear it next year performed by a choir in NYC. I guess I’m lucky to have something to do when things aren’t going so well: Dad dies – write some music; Mother dies – write some music. Well here’s the music: Le Maître Du Marteau. The title is a play on one of my favorite chamber ensemble pieces, Pierre Boulez’ Le Marteau Sans Maître (The Hammer Without a Master). In my piece, the hammer has a master: my mom – BAM-BAM; she took a French class in the 1950’s and, even though she didn’t get very good at it, always called me François.
Oh yeah, I think the flat line accordion is anyone who is left behind by the death of loved ones: BAM-BAM.
Commentary:
"Ooooo! That's a strong piece."
— Composer Chen Yi
"Ooooo! That's a strong piece."
— Composer Chen Yi