Hearing David Conte

One wonders if Arnold Schoenberg and Anton Webern appreciated what they were unleashing on the world when they decided to scrap tonality and embrace the twelve-tone scale. Could they have anticipated, for instance, Karlheinz Stockhausen’s Mittwoch Aus Licht, which requires the performers to have on hand two camels, four helicopters, and several buckets of paint? Could they have imagined Brian Ferneyhough’s convoluted and scatter-brained “new complexity” scores? I’d wager not, though they were quite clear about their intention: the liberation of dissonance from the tyranny of harmony. Judging by the widespread acceptance of serialism and serialist music (in academic circles, at least), they succeeded. As it stands now, one of the most rebellious things a composer can do is embrace a tonal outlook.

Chief among the rebels is David Conte, a composer who teaches at the San Francisco Conservatory of Music. He is part of a group of composers (I’m talking about the likes of James MacMillan, Jonathan Leshnoff, Michael Kurek, and others) who are standing firm against the tide, who recognize the truth that tonality’s hallmarks—the circle of fifths, linear harmonies, triads—are vital to our understanding of music. This position is not surprising given Conte’s education. Conte was one of the last people to study with the legendary Parisian composition pedagogue Nadia Boulanger, who instilled in him an unshakeable foundation in harmony, tonality, and counterpoint. And the results speak for themselves: Conte has created music that seems to contain multiple centuries, music that is tonal yet fresh, understandable yet exploratory, classical yet jazz-infused, and unmistakably American.

For a comprehensive example of Conte’s approach, look no further than the Friction Quartet’s recording of his chamber music. The album contains a sonata for cello and piano, a piano trio, and Conte’s second string quartet, but I will focus here on the second string quartet, a piece that, in my estimation, is the most brilliant and perfectly-formed contemporary classical composition in existence today.

The quartet contains five movements: an elegant Molto moderato, a short and active Scherzo that ends with some delightful harmonics, a Fugue that showcases Conte’s mastery of counterpoint, a somber and reflective Elegy, and a closing Allegro energico that carries an almost Bartok or Kodaly-esque energy. Much could be said about each movement, but I will content myself with two general observations that, I hope, will illuminate the many virtues of the piece and steer the reader toward Conte’s work.

First, the textures. One hears Debussy in the density of Conte’s harmonies (I thought especially of Nuages and the first movement of the G Minor String Quartet), but one also hears Copland, Zemlinsky, even Brahms. It’s as if Conte has downloaded the entire musical tradition into his brain and offered us the resultant amalgamation. Conte’s experience as a choral composer and conductor also shines through here, particularly in his ability to create sumptuous lyrical lines over a texture that is exquisitely blended but never stagnant. The opening lines of the first and fourth movements are excellent examples of this.

Second, the variety. There is a fine line between creating ample variety and succumbing to so many creative influences that the composition becomes scattered. But Conte again threads the needle. Allegros surge and dance; adagios pray and sing; fugues weave and respond; no stone is left unturned. The result is a listening experience that, unlike the repetition of the minimalists or the overstimulation of the serialists, leaves the listener engaged and satisfied. Take the first movement, for instance. The music alternates between a spare, ethereal singing motif and a strident dotted eighth-note motif. In the hands of a lesser talent, such contrast might detract from the continuity of the music. But Conte incorporates the two themes to perfection, even layering them together at points, such that the return of each voice seems to greet the listener like the arrival of an old friend.

What more is there to say? Perhaps only this: speaking as a violinist, my only regret after listening to this quartet is that I have not yet had the opportunity to play it myself.

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