M. Wiesenberg – the Potter and the Clay The contribution of Menachem Wiesenberg (b. 1950) to the Israeli art-music repertoire was
marked by complete maturity and skill from the very beginning. He appeared
before the Israeli audience, as an art-music composer, with two choral works, My
Mother Plays a Waltz and To Every Thing there is a Season.
These proved him to be an excellent craftsman as well as a sensitive tone-poet,
and placed him at once among the leading composers of his generation. Till then
Wiesenberg had been known as a marvelous pianist (in both ‘classical’ and jazz
fields), a highly appreciated lecturer and teacher and a successful arranger of
folk and popular music, of the highest professional standard. Yet only at the
age of thirty-six did he feel ready to compose and present to the general
public an original work of art-music. No premature works by Wiesenberg are
known (his jazz compositions and popular arrangements are all mature music as
well). It seems, though, that this astonishing revelation of artistic
achievement was the result of an inner process – perhaps partly subconscious –
of growth and development, a process culminating in these beautiful choral
works. The truth is that Wiesenberg’s other musical activities mentioned above
are imbued with his immense creativity. Whoever happened to hear him play jazz,
or accompany singers, collaborate with ‘classical’ chamber players or discuss a
piece of music, was certainly impressed by his creative approach to music, his
sheer involvement, his sincere enthusiasm, and not least his keen analytic
ability and his deep insight. One of the shaping factors
if this total musicianship might be the influence of the composer’s father, who
was a klezmer, but not of the ordinary kind,
for he was a self-taught professional musician with a solid background in music
theory. Although Wiesenberg had learnt from his father the secrets of klezmer
music, it was only when he came back to Some works by Wiesenberg do indeed display the direct
influence of Jewish music, especially that of biblical cantillation. His
imaginative and eloquent string quartet Between
the Sacred and the Profane is
based, as its title implies, on both ‘sacred’ and ‘profane’ sources. The
biblical cantillation of the Casablanca Jews and the Sephardi Jews of Jerusalem
serves as motif material for the quartet’s first movement; secular songs of the
Jewish community of Tetuen (Tangier) are used in its second. Song of Comfort (for two solo voices, double choir and
brass ensemble) reflects the influence of Ashkenazi Jews’ prayers and
successfully combines this element with Renaissance sonorities and antiphonal
textures. The motet I Shall Thank my God, my Rock, my Creator is a free paraphrase of a ritual song of
Yemenite Jews. Accordingly, Wiesenberg’s interest encompasses various Jewish
traditions. With a sensitive ear he listens to the musical peculiarities of
each of them and uses the material they offer in a highly individual and
inventive way. The same is true of Wiesenberg’s
arrangements. His Song of the Land is a set
of Israeli folk and popular songs arranged as art-songs for alto singer Mira
Zakai and recorded by her on a successful CD, with the composer as accompanist.
Four Children’s Songs (for children’s choir and
piano) may serve as another example of Wiesenberg’s inspired art of arrangement
and his special fondness for Israeli new folk music. His arrangements of
Yiddish folk songs are, on the other hand, reconstructions of the devastated
and lost musical heritage of East European Jewry. Wiesenberg is as creative in
his arrangements as he is in his wholly original works, and he may without
doubt stand as most convincing proof of Bartók’s statement that “the
creative imagination required for making a good arrangement does not fall in
the least from that necessary for the writing of an original work”. The artistic quality of
Wiesenberg’s arrangements is also revealed in the way he responds to the texts
of the songs, and in this respect, the arranged songs do not differ from the
original ones. Whatever the text is – a folk song, a prayer, or a modern poem –
this composer will always be attentive to its meaning, rhythm and sound, though
he is never excessively illustrative. Three Water Girls (for
choir), with its fantastic or surrealistic text by Nurit Zarchi, includes some
outstanding examples of Wiesenberg’s subtle musical imagery, using small
leitmotifs, light and shade of harmony, and fluctuations of the melodic lines. A Trapped Bird, to the
symbolic text by Ya’ir Horowitz, is again noteworthy for interpreting the text
and creating for it a musical equivalence, this time with a single singing
voice and three instruments. Back to purely instrumental music,
we must dwell on the collaboration of Wiesenberg with ùd virtuoso
Taiseer Elias. In summer 1990 Wiesenberg organized a unique concert (as part of
the Israel Festival) in which he himself performed works by Israeli composers
who had been deeply influenced by Middle Eastern musical traditions (Yedidiya
Admon and Alexander Uriyah Boskovich, who are Jewish, and Habib Touma, the late
Palestinian-Arab composer). In addition, an Arab classical ensemble, directed
by Taiseer Elias, played Arab traditional music. This was the beginning of a
continuous and prolific mutual activity, the result of which was a fascinating
encounter of ‘East’ and ‘West’. Encounter was
indeed the title given to the half-improvisatory works for ùd and piano,
created by the two masters. Each brought to the ‘encounter’ his own tradition
and his own knowledge and mastery, and in the process of their musical dialogue
they grew to know each other more and more, finding their common roots and
arriving at a conclusive point of mutual understanding. The three Encounters were followed by two other works in which Elias
took part: Trio for
ùd, violoncello and piano, and Concerto for
ùd and SO. In a radio interview Wiesenberg
said that for him turning to Arab music was only natural, although he had not
been educated in that tradition. Yet both traditional Jewish music and
classical Arab music have in common a basic concept. In both, the musical sound
never appears as a single, isolated phenomenon, but as a part of a group, that
is, a pattern: in Jewish biblical cantillation it is the ta’am, which is a certain melodic pattern, whereas in
Arab music the note is always embellished and the art of playing is in its
essence an art of ornamentation. Contemplating his interest in Jewish and oriental
music, Wiesenberg told composer and musicologist Oded Assaf: “There is in it an
element of search for the self. The sounds of this country and the entire
region were deep within me, yet I was not conscious of it. I am trying now to
give them expression in an encounter between folk and art music, both oriental
and western.” This musical credo immediately calls for comparison with concepts
and ideas of older generations of Israeli music, which sought in the music of
the Although the works composed for
Taiseer Elias have an obvious oriental tinge, they also point to Wiesenberg’s
wide, universal approach to modality; they exemplify the possibility of
Messiaen modes being used as Arab maqams, and
vice versa, Arab maqams treated
as Messiaen modes. Other works made use of traditional modal sources other than
Jewish or Arab music. The motet Go to the Ant, You Sluggard, for
instance, is based on a scale that resembles an Indian raga and is also
influenced by Gregorian chant and multi-textual medieval motets (including a
modern adaptation of the ‘talea’ technique of the isorhythmic motet). In the
colorful Kaleidoscope, or the Quintet for percussion and string quartet, with its
fascinating rhythmic drive, both Far Eastern and Middle Eastern elements are
echoed as components of an altogether modern – and very individual – neo-modal
language. Recently, Wiesenberg has widened
still more his scope of musical reference; his Octet Movement – Homage to Mendelssohn and Concerto da camera – La folia provide more examples of the
composer’s ability to transform given musical material into something entirely
new (Wiesenberg shares this feature with Stravinsky, Britten, Berio, and
others). In the Octet the music
hints at the Mendelssohn model, using remote variants of the first movement’s
main motifs. In the Concerto da camera different
interpretations of the Folia theme
create different and contrasting moods. It is amazing how naturally the old
Spanish tune goes back to its older roots and how these archaic elements
commingle with modern idioms. In the last movement of the Concerto the lamenting tone prevails, as in the ùd Trio. According to the composer’s note, it is a lament
bewailing the violence and cruelty that dominate our world (and above all our
region, the Most of Wiesenberg’s works have a
tonal center, yet chromaticism is an important factor in his style. Sometimes
it is the derivative of the mode and its ornamental alterations. Wiesenberg’s
chromatic idiom maintains that typical expressiveness associated with chromatic
music for centuries. He is a true master of the expressive melodic line as well
as of tense chromatic harmony that combines in a most telling way tonal and
atonal chords. The motet Like the Clay in the Potter’s Hand for
children’s choir is an intense chromatic piece that may serve as an
illustration of the above. It has as text a prayer of the Day of Atonement
liturgy and its music expresses perfectly the mood evoked by the words. This
choral piece shares the same title with a work for violoncello (or viola) and
piano, later arranged and enlarged to a Concerto for
violoncello and ChO, dedicated to the cellist Doron Toister (for whom the
earlier version was also composed). Here the music is again expressively
chromatic. It is partly based on elements of biblical cantillation, but the
germinal main idea is abstract and derived from the rhythm of the
above-mentioned prayer. Besides, the work refers to the symbolic meaning of the
text, presenting the relationship between the soloist and the orchestra (or the
piano) as analogous to that between the ‘potter’ and the ‘clay’. In the impressive and superbly
orchestrated To Jerusalem for SO
Wiesenberg also uses words as rhythmic cells for the entire composition; this
time these are Monodialogue is one of
Wiesenberg’s deepest works (aside from being a cardinal compositional achievement).
During the performance one almost forgets that a single instrument and a single
player are unfolding, phrase by phrase, the rich and varied microcosm of the
human soul, with all its inner contradictions and contrasts, dialoguing, so to
speak, with each other. A personal attitude to the performer, revealed in the works just mentioned, is typical of Wiesenberg. Almost all his works have been created for specific performers as a kind of homage to their musicianship and personality. His art is evident in musical practice, and whatever the medium the music always sounds idiomatic, stemming from a true feeling for voice and instrument alike. At first hearing Wiesenberg’s
technique and style seem to rely more on the modernism of the first half of the
20th century than on the avant-garde the 1950s and 1960s. He has
successfully integrated influences of Bartók, Messiaen and others and
with great individuality he uses devices such as pedal point, ostinato,
organum-like texture and heterophony. Less obvious but still of high importance
is the influence of the Second Viennese School, present especially in the use
of the same material for the horizontal and vertical tone-combinations and in
the meticulous working out of motif segments. But some features of Wiesenberg’s
oeuvre, such as elements of controlled improvisation and indetermination, or
certain instrumental techniques, belong to the second half of the 20th
century. Of the older Israeli composers
Wiesenberg somewhat resembles Yehezkel Braun – both are masters of choral
composition and both use modality in a modern context. Clarity of texture is
also characteristic of both. But Wiesenberg’s leaning to chromaticism and
expressivity makes him quite different from Braun and other neo-classicists;
and although his works show some link with the ‘modal chromaticism’ of Partos,
Seter and Boskovich, again, his style on the whole is altogether different. In
his handling of form too he is quite remote from neo-classicism of any sort,
his forms being much freer, although they are always directional (unlike those
of avant-garde composers). Most of his works (and movements of works) are in
what may be called fantasia- form, and in each of them he shapes form as an
organic structural whole in a unique way. Even the exceptional use of elements of sonata form in the Octet, or the passacaglia
of the Concerto da camera – La folia, are stamped with
Wiesenberg’s very individual concept of form. Sometimes the structure is determined by the interchange of lyrical sections in free rhythm and vital and energetic ones with a strong metrical pulse. Wiesenberg’s feeling for rhythm and its subtleties deserves a special discussion, which space here does not permit. Yet one should point out that his particular sense of time is an important structural element in both his performances and compositions, and may account (among other things) for their great, convincing impact. For sure, much more could be said
about this composer’s music, but better than talking about it is listening to
it, experiencing it, and finding in it ever new meaning. Joseph
Peles English
translation: Murray Rosovsky |