David Lang is a member of Bang on a Can, and Cantaloupe Music is “from the creators of Bang on a Can,” but this CD/DVD...

David Lang is a member of Bang on a Can, and Cantaloupe Music is “from the creators of Bang on a Can,” but this CD/DVD combination appears not to be a Bang on a Can project, strictly speaking. These are three separate works, although the release has the overall title of “Elevated.” This is not explained—if “explained” is the right word to use in this context—until one views the DVD.

It makes more sense to view and discuss the DVD first. Prima la musica e poi il video? It is not clear if Lang was writing music for preexisting videos, or if the videos were edited to fit Lang’s music. (Cantaloupe modishly refuses to include helpful booklet notes in any release of theirs that I am aware of.) Lang’s Wed is paired with a 1972 video called Treat Bottle by William Wegman. You might recall that Wegman is the photographer whose Weimeraner dogs are his most frequent (only?) models. Treat Bottle is a five-minute video, homemade in quality, depicting the efforts of one of his dogs to remove a tasty snack from a glass bottle. This the dog finally succeeds in doing, but not until he breaks the bottle into several pieces. You don’t have to be a PETA activist to be made uncomfortable by the sight of a handsome dog nosing the jagged edges of a broken bottle; I hope this was not as bad as it appears to be. One could argue how appropriate Lang’s Wed is for these images. Scored for solo piano, Wed is pretty and rather sad. It is the shortest work here, and the least melodically and harmonically static. In fact, the most interesting thing about it is the way it presents the listener with just enough challenge to prevent it from falling into the “New Age” genre.

I “freaked out” when I first saw Bill Morrison’s short film Light Is Falling and the longer Decasia, both with fabulous scores by Michael Gordon, another Bang on a Canner. Morrison takes archival films in various states of decay—nitrate film stock is notoriously sensitive to the ravages of time—and uses the film’s physical degradation as an expressive medium over and above (and sometimes in contradiction to) the film’s nominal subject. The fading, blotching, and distortions have an abstract beauty all their own, although, like most types of beauty, it is not without its horrific aspects. Morrison’s How to Pray is based on 10-minute footage showing icebergs, photographed from the water, in the process of being worn down by wind and waves. The degradation of the icebergs is paralleled by the decay of the film itself. What is the foreground and what is the background? Lang’s music is appropriately “frozen,” rocking to and fro between less than a handful of harmonic and melodic options. A cello and keyboards (a piano and a Hammond organ) fruitlessly occupy themselves within the limitations imposed on them while the electric guitar and drums coldly push them along. The word “endgame” came to mind.

Men is “dedicated to Hans Werner Henze.” It is paired with Matt Mullican’s nearly 45-minute Elevated, which in turn draws upon 16mm film footage dating from 1935. Shot by one D. G. Oswald (an amateur with a film camera?), this footage affords fascinating glimpses of New York City and its environs during that time, including wrestling in Madison Square Garden, a burlesque dancer, shop windows, Luna Park, and children frolicking in front of an open fire hydrant on a scorching summer day. In other words, Oswald’s footage teems with life. In contrast, Lang’s music is even more petrified here than in How to Pray. Men sounds like a collaboration between Anton Bruckner and Morton Feldman. Sustained trombone notes—a very few notes!—serve as a trumpet of doom. Time is slowly marked off by dark, thick bass chords, and the music’s surface is roughed-up by metallic rattling of unidentified origin. Is the music commenting on the film? (Or vice-versa?) There’s no obvious connection between the two. I guess with the appropriate music, even footage of happy children opening presents on Christmas Day can be made to seem apocalyptic. Perhaps Lang (and Mullican?) are in mourning over a perceived loss of innocence and hopefulness since 1935.

The CD contains performances of all three musical works without video, of course, and the music’s viability does not depend on the visual content. In fact, I don’t think I could watch Treat Bottle again, although I am sure I will want to rehear Wed. Even so, I’d recommend viewing the DVD first, and then moving to the CD, because music is more difficult to “learn” than images. I imagine that the performances accurately represent Lang’s music, and the engineering gives no cause for complaint.

This release is recommended to those with a developed taste for the challenging and the unusual.

FANFARE: Raymond Tuttle