Hila Plitmann

ok.

Putting this up seems a bit frivolous and a lot scary. The quality of the demo has much to be desired (when they say ROUGH demo they are referring to what you are about to hear…). The overall sound is pretty flat and my vocals are far less than ideal. But, heck, I want to put this out there.

A few years back Eric succeeded in yet another one of his crusades to get the people around him to create something. This time the person was myself and it was in the form of a song, and then more songs which I have been trying to write ever since. We were in this tiny little Bavarian town (where he was invited to lecture), he was working, I was on my own, and this first song just came blurting out.

A little while ago we decided we might want to make some rough demos of songs that I have written since then (rough like a porcupine), and so with the collaboration of my best friend and superb pianist Tali Tadmor, we went into Firehouse Studios in Pasadena and did what we could with a couple of hours…(we recorded three songs “The Reckoning”, “Chaos” & “i will not stop”, about all of which I will find the chutspah to blog – at some point).

My intention with this song, when it will finally be realized, is that it will be very orchestral in scope and that the voice will fluctuate between sections of gentleness and sections of grittiness or grinding-ness  (if that make any sense at all in made up words, on a computer).

But enough with the lame excuses.

Even though all things may seem so lost for time;
Even though your eyes would kiss me once and last;
Even though our moments run so fast and melt with past, and past, and past
I will not stop
I will not stop
I will not stop
I will not stop and look on frightened
I will not stop
I will not stop

Even though the hint of autumn creeps through lashes;
Even though my hips are wider than before;
Even though sweet childhood sheds unto the floor -
the kids’ still listening
every minute -
ears glued to your backyard door
so I will not stop
I will not stop
not stop
I will not stop
until god’s wave pulls me under
I will not stop
how could I stop

Even though attachment
is so unforgiving;
Even though each breath
ponders the next;
And although I truly know
the heaviness of living
I’ll rip open my soul,
force it though
and make it confess
that I cannot stop
I cannot stop
yet my heart be drowned
in beauty’s ocean
that will not stop
It will not stop
it will not stop.

ok, so, an admission. I had an evening alone a few days ago and I finally downloaded and watched the movie ‘Twilight’…

not exactly a fine film in most ways, but I’m obsessed with science fiction and fantasy and I love vampire stories (to a degree), and I figured, since I’ve watched seasons 1-7 of Buffy four times through already (an entirely separate confession, for another entry), it’s time to move on (and grow up? Heh.)

My wonderful 13 year old niece, Colee, has been telling me about the series for quite a while. I tried, truly I tried, no really, to start reading them – I must have gone to the bookstore on eight different occasions and put genuine effort into finding a place in my brain that will be interested in continuing to read these books, because I am always craving a world that will transport me, and for some reason fantastical stories seem to have that effect.

But I just simply could not get past the writing (and this is in no way assuming, for one second, that I am a qualified  judge of whether literature is poorly or well written. It’s just that some things either work or don’t work for my particular capacity, and this style of prose, for me, is too much like the postings in a blog…).

What I did find extremely cool was the soundtrack.

My most-loved song-soundtracks are usually ones that come attached to a Wes Anderson movie (Royal Tenenbaums; The Life Aquatic; Rushmore), and I found this one to be nearly as mood setting and compelling, and I feel it really added an aura to the film that otherwise would be lacking…

My favorite track was “Eyes on Fire” by the ‘Blue Foundations’.

And I was also really fond of “Full Moon” by ‘The Black Ghosts’ and “Supermassive Black Hole” by ‘Muse’.

have a safe and bloodless night.

A few weeks ago I had yet another audition – this time for Santa Fe Opera (for some insanely modern opera called “Life is a Dream” by Lewis Spratlan) and I chose to open by singing the following song:

It is the first song titled “Alive and Taking Names” in a cycle called “Miz Inez Sez” by composer David Del Tredici. The poetry is by American poet Colette Inez.  I premiered the cycle with David at the piano a few years ago at Miller Hall in Columbia University, and a while later we recorded them under the CRI label.

I am not really sure that this is a good song with which to open an audition.

To regress even further: my path seems to be so left of center, so specifically different in a way, that, especially for opera auditions, I don’t really know what it is they might be looking for (actually, I’ve never really known…) and so, instead of going to usual traditional aria route I make an artistic choice and sing something that really means something to me. Damned be formality and hence this song.

all right, whatever.

back on track: I feel that with this cycle I began to understand, less intellectually and rather more in an intuitive way, that the choice of poetry is what makes the difference (to me, at least?) between a really superb song and one that aspires to be great but is either ‘posing to hard’ or ‘just can’t quite get there’.

Here is the poem:

If I set out to list ointments
Would I find myself slick,
ceaselessly involved
in salves, balms, daubs, smears,
referencing spikenard, lotion , pomade,
greasing the wheels, as it were, of my skin?

Best to forego fat, the oleaginous stuff
that lards the heart.

If I set out to list ills, ague, pox, bloody flux,
would I find myself sick,
ceaselessly involved in coup, rot,
referencing bran, drugging the fool
in the ward of my skull?

Best to forego pain, the surgical brain
doesn’t love nouns.

Croaker, monger, medic, quack,
sawbones, prober,  jawsmith, vet,
I am well, sound, hale, cross referenced with fit,
snuffling the morning ari, alive and taking names.

O000 – K.

Strange poem. Perhaps it speaks volumes to you and immediately connects with your gut; or maybe not at all, or perchance it even gets you visibly annoyed and angry.

Regardless, here is what I feel – it is, OBVIOUSLY, very specifically meaningful to Mr. Del Tredici (Why Obviously? – exactly because it is such an unusual poem and poet, and David OBVIOUSLY went searching).  And I believe that comes through in the music composed to it, which is so enormously evocative, so PERSONAL.

I cannot tell you how many works I’ve sung with what is considered great poetry, and how many times the composition of them disappoints or just falls short of being truly insightful, layered and moving to the core. More and more, I find that it is a rare occurrence to have a composer that is so aware of his inner world that his choices are then very specific and true to that world, and I find that very compelling.

And by the way I find this to be true with Schubert, Wolf and Faure (to give an example) just as much as with a contemporary composer….to name a few contemporary composers with whom I’ve worked, and whose works I’ve found to possess that very rare quality – David Del Tredici, Eric Whitacre, John Corigliano, Jonathan Newman…

This is not to say that these persons might not benefit from, say, going to a therapist. It’s not that they have it all figured out, and furthermore they may even run the most complicated souls on the human gamut!  But my sense is that they are very honest with themselves when it comes to their creative process. And that honesty seems to come through in the connection they find with one poem or another and then with the music that comes to them through that poem. Maybe a lot of amateuristic mumbo jumbo, but that’s how I feel…

Is this a learned quality in a person? can it be taught? can it be honed? I don’t know. I do know that it is uncommon and extraordinary and precious, and that when presented with such a work of art, it gives my spirit the chance to learn something new.

I saw a man holding his father’s hand.
He held it gently, but within it lay an assurance.
as if his fingers were promising
“I will not let you fall”

Just as his father’s hands had sang to him time after time
when his body was small and frail,
itching to jump on walls and fences.

I saw an old man holding firmly to his son’s hand.
His feet stepped gingerly and with caution
but his hand held no hesitation.
His grasp as if declaring:
“I am returning into childhood,
and I release all imposed boundaries between a father and his son”.

Nearly two months ago I had the pleasure of taking the stage at Disney Hall in Los Angeles to perform once again on a “Green Umbrella” concert with Esa Pekka Salonen conducting. It was his last “Green Umbrella” concert as house conductor with the Los Angeles Philharmonic. The “Green Umbrella” series is New Music series that he himself started to great success – it’s pretty astounding to see the number of audience members who come to listen to these crazy concerts!

The piece is called Floof, written years ago by Esa Pekka himself, and from what I understand it was performed on the very first “Green Umbrella”concert as well. We closed the evening with it and I can only say that, counter to my expectations, it was an incredibly meaningful and emotional experience for me. So much so, that I feel the need to write down some of my thoughts regarding it…

I am not one to easily love much of the more ‘complicated’ contemporary music (and when I say contemporary I mean beginning in the early 20th century. Although when I come to think of it I don’t really like all that much of ANY kind of style of music – my ear and emotional responses seem to be rather selective with what they ACTUALLY like…anyone else?

OK well, so, whether the TRUTH in my dislike of that type of music lies in a.) my inexperience in listening to it; b.) my own brain not being sophisticated enough; or c.) most of it is just plain ugly and un-listenable (and overly focused on the intellectual presentation of music – which then, to me, is not really music anymore – it is a puzzle or a mathematical equation or something, which is sometimes interesting, but it’s not MUSIC.); or d.) something else of which I am unaware – this is a whole discussion for another time – the fact remains that when I got the score to Floof in the mail I did not expect it to be a piece that I would end up enjoying…

I have already sung a couple of works by Esa Pekka and have always found them to be solidly written and incredibly well crafted, and also, coincidentally, very beautiful. I trusted that Floof would be structurally sound, but I wasn’t so sure about the ‘beautiful’.

The text is taken from the science fiction book “The Cyberiad” by Stenislav Lem (which was already intriuging to me – I love his writing…). It is essentially a love poem written by a computer. I’ve included it below for anyone who is interested (the translation is magnificent).

It is an insane work of music. But after the three weeks of mad practice and first rehearsal filled with sweaty nervousness, I started REALLY liking it (to say ‘started’ is a little funny, since we basically had one rehearsal and the dress. So let’s just say I really liked it by the dress rehearsal).

It has so much humor, some fascinating colors and sounds and a keen sense of drama, and is just plain fun, and, I have to admit, I found many moments in it truly beautiful.

oh – and when Esa Pekka mentioned that one of the synthesizer lines was inspired directly from the bass line to Michael Jackson’s “Bad” (to which he was listening back then on his friggin’ walkman ;) I was completely hooked.

Then there is the added treat of working with superb musicians, and with Esa Pekka as a conductor. I feel humbled any time I get to share the stage with this man. He is such a prodigious musician and particularly as a conductor (and like no other conductor I know) he seems so ‘at one’ with the focus on the music that it is almost as if the ‘man’ part disappears and just the ‘music making machine’ remains. It’s something out of this world.

(and by the way he’s also incredibly clear, which is kind of a good idea when you’re in the thick of insanity…)

Unfortunately I didn’t get a recording this time around, so here is just a picture taken from rehearsal. Some more of my rambling – this time a bit of nonsense that I will remember for many years to come.

Ah ih oh
Ah-ah-ah
Phlophlophlophlo
Rhorhorho
Momomomomo
Phlogisticosh Phlogisticosh Phlogisticosh
Ah
Rhomothriglyph
Ah
Phlogisticoshrhomothriglyph
Ah Ah Ah
Floof!

Pec’t o’tay
Merlong gumin got s-
Untle yun furly pääzzen ye.
Confre an’ayzor ots,
Bither de furloss bochre blee!
Blee!

A-e-a-e-a-e-a-e-a-ha
A-ha-he-hu-ha-he-hu-he-hi
Ha-he-ho-hi-ha-hu-ha-hi-ho-he-hu-ha-ha
Mockles
Fent on silpen tree
Blockards three a feening
Mockles
What silps came to thee
In thy pantry dreaming

Seduced shaggy Samson snored
She scissored short. Sorely shorn
Soon shackled slave
Samson sighed
Silently scheming
Sightlessly seeking
Some savage spectacular suicide

Ah
Come, let us hasten to a higher plane
Where dyads tread the fairy fields of Venn
Their indices bedecked from one to n,
Commingled in an endless Markov chain!

Come, every frustum longs to be a cone,
And every vector dreams of matrices.
Hark to the gentle gradient of the breeze:
It whispers of a more ergodic zone

In Riemann, Hilbert or in Banach space
Let super scripts and subscripts
Go their ways.
Our asymptotes no longer out of phase
We shall encounter, counting,
Face to face.

I’ll grant thee random access to my heart,
Thou’lt tell me all the constants of thy love;
And so we two shall all love’s lemmas prove,
And in our bound partition never part.

For what did Cauchy know, Or Christoffel,
Or Fourier,Or any Boole or Euler,
Wielding their compasses,
Their pens and rulers,
Of thy supernal sinusoidal spell?

Cancel me not
For what then shall remain?
Abcissas, some mantissas, modules, modes,
A root or two,
A torus and a node:
The inverse of my verse,
A null domain.

Ellipse of bliss, converge,
O lips divine!
The product of our scalars is defined!
Cyberiad draws nigh,
And the skew mind
Cuts capers like a happy haversine.

I see the eigenvalue in thine eye
I hear the tender tensor in thy sigh
Bernoulli would have been content to die
Had he but known such
Floof!