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      For Ghana’s Only Openly Transgender Musician, ‘Every Day Is Dangerous’

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      Maxine Angel Opoku has found a new audience for her music with songs opposing a proposed law that would make it illegal to identify as gay, transgender or queer.ACCRA, Ghana — When Maxine Angel Opoku was still an upstart musician, relatively unknown and struggling to stand out in Ghana’s competitive music scene, she sang about love, romance and being sexy.Then, in August 2021, lawmakers in the country’s Parliament introduced a bill that would imprison people who identify as transgender, as Ms. Opoku does, and her art urgently turned to advocacy. Her music began to attract both legions of new fans as well as powerful adversaries.“Dear Mr. Politician, fix the country right now. The people who voted for you, are disappointed in you,” Ms. Opoku sings in one of her latest songs. “Kill it, kill it, kill the bill.”The subject of the song is the “Promotion of Proper Human Sexual Rights and Ghanaian Family Values Bill,” which, if passed, would make identifying as gay, transgender or queer a crime punishable with a maximum prison sentence of five years.As Ghana’s only openly transgender musician, Ms. Opoku, who is known on stage as Angel Maxine, is one of the most visible targets of the proposed legislation in a country where the gay and transgender community is largely closeted.Ms. Opoku, preparing for the day last month in Accra, Ghana.Francis Kokoroko for The New York Times“Music is the tool for my advocacy,” Ms. Opoku said in an interview in Accra, the capital of Ghana. “This is the only way my voice can reach the politicians, the president, the homophobes, the layperson.”Same-sex sexual acts are already criminalized in Ghana, in part because of a British colonial-era law, but it is currently not a crime to publicly identify as gay, transgender or queer.In response to the proposed legislation, Ms. Opoku released a song called “Kill the Bill” and, shortly before that, another song, “Wo Fie,” which means “in your home,” in the Akan language, one of the most widely spoken in Ghana.“Wo Fie” talks about how L.G.B.T.Q. people may be part of every family, and calls for tolerance and respect. In the lyrics, Ms. Opoku sings about being unapologetically herself.Ms. Opoku, the oldest of five children, was born in Accra on Sept. 3, 1985, to a fashion designer mother and a civil servant father.“Everybody that saw her would say: ‘Hey, you have a beautiful girl,’” her mother, Faustina Araba Forson, 60, recalled. “Then I would say: ‘No, it’s a boy.’”“She loved wearing girls’ dresses, playing with the girls,” her mother added. “She was a girl trapped in a male body.”Still, it took Ms. Forson many years to accept her daughter’s identity. Ms. Opoku recalled that mother and child would frequent churches to hear pastors, including the controversial Nigerian preacher T.B. Joshua, seeking to “cast the gay out.”“One day I was praying, and I heard God say, ‘I created her in my own image and I love her,’” Ms. Forson said.Ms. Opoku started out singing at home during morning devotional prayers with her family, and as a teenager shadowed members of a now defunct girl group. She began performing music as a woman in 2008 while studying hospitality management in Koforidua, a city north of Accra. It was a dangerous endeavor. Once, during a set, a bottle was thrown from the audience, striking her in the head, she said.With no label to back her or to sponsor recording sessions, she put her music — whose sound is a fusion of Afropop, dance hall and the increasingly popular Afrobeats — on hold and instead moved between jobs in the hospitality sector as a cook and waitress, where she faced issues such as misgendering.Ms. Opoku and her mother, Faustina Araba Forson.Francis Kokoroko for The New York TimesEven before the threat of prison in the impending legislation, to be openly gay or transgender in Ghana was extraordinarily risky, with those identifying — or perceived to be — as such facing acts of violence from both strangers and their own families. Employment and housing discrimination is common.“Some get forced into marriages, get thrown out of their homes; some of them drop out of school because they no more have support,” said Leila Yahya, executive director of One Love Sisters, Ghana, an advocacy organization for L.G.B.T.Q. Muslims, and a friend of Ms. Opoku.Ms. Opoku returned to music in 2018, and while defiance has won her followers online at home and abroad, it has also marked her out. Her home was ransacked and looted by a mob last year, forcing her to scale back on public appearances. Ms. Opoku was not at home when the mob attacked.“They could have taken me to the police station, maybe I could have even died,” said Ms. Opoku, who now performs rarely, and only in private. “I could have been lynched.”After Ms. Opoku’s home was attacked, the maverick musician Wanlov the Kubolor and his sister, known as Sister Deborah, helped her find a safe space and began a professional and personal relationship. The siblings, long viewed as social contrarians in Ghana’s music industry, are featured on both “Kill the Bill” and “Wo Fie.”“It blew me away, the stuff she was living with from day to day: financially, psychologically, physically,” said Wanlov the Kubolor. “I don’t think I could have survived that life.”Ms. Opoku said she also wants to be known for music unrelated to her activism. But that has been an unrealized ambition, so far. A completed mini-album of non-advocacy songs remains unreleased because of a lack of sponsorship, she said.Ms. Forson with a picture of Ms. Opoku as a child next to her aunt.Francis Kokoroko for The New York TimesFor Wanlov the Kubolor, the recent rise in Ms. Opoku’s public stature has been equal parts joyful and painful.“It is painful because she could have bloomed much earlier, because she has a super talent, and she could have been a world star already,” he said.Recently, the song “Wo Fie” went viral on TikTok outside Ghana, and he believes Ms. Opoku’s increasing international visibility — although fraught with safety risks — could also serve as a protective factor for her.But Ms. Opoku isn’t so sure. “Every day is dangerous for me,” she said. “I cannot walk on the street as a normal person.”Taking a bus is out of the question, she said, as is going to the market. “I cannot do a lot of things,” she said.Her daughter’s safety is front of mind for Ms. Forson, too. “I fear for my daughter a lot,” she said. “She is a vociferous person and so she is a target, and I always pray that God should protect her.”If passed, the bill would criminalize positive portrayals of queer life in the media, codify the widely discredited pseudoscience of conversion therapy and compel the families and neighbors of L.G.B.T.Q. people to report them to the authorities.Those who are arrested can avoid prison by undergoing psychiatric and endocrinological treatment “to overcome their vulnerabilities.” The bill also states that allies who give any form of assistance to L.G.B.T.Q. people, such as housing, could be sentenced to between five and 10 years in prison.Ms. Opoku, with friends, at a hotel before a workshop she facilitated for people in Ghana who identify as transgender.Francis Kokoroko for The New York TimesThe proposed legislation is backed by the country’s powerful religious leaders, politicians from the two leading parties and large sections of the local media. It also has broad popular support in a country where a 2019 survey found that 93 percent of Ghanaians would dislike having a homosexual neighbor.The bill has also galvanized outspoken opposition from a small but influential coalition of local academics, lawyers and rights activists.Last month the Speaker of Parliament, who has previously expressed support for the legislation, said it was a priority and would be passed before the next elections in 2024.Thanks in part to the L.G.B.T.Q. antipathy fomenting around the bill, Ms. Opoku said it was difficult to see a future for herself in Ghana. It’s nearly impossible for her to perform freely in public now; the bill would make it legally impossible.“I don’t see a life here for me,” she said. “If I cannot come out openly, go on the streets to move about my daily life, if I cannot get a job, how do I sustain myself? This is no life.”Despite the difficulties, she remains resolute about speaking up for Ghana’s L.G.B.T.Q. community in the face of this rising hostility.Her next song, she said, will encourage at-risk people to sign up for the H.I.V. prevention pill PrEP.“I feel like it is a responsibility,” Ms. Opoku said. “If I win, people like me will also win.”She added, “People like me will also be happier, people like me will also feel free.”Ms. Opoku, at home.Francis Kokoroko for The New York TimesReporting for this story was supported in part by the Pulitzer Center. More

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      Review: In ‘Almost Famous,’ the Heart of Rock ’n’ Roll Flatlines

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      Cameron Crowe’s 2000 film, set in the world of bands and groupies, does not survive its Broadway musical transplant.At its best, rock ’n’ roll is “a form that is gloriously and righteously dumb” — or so decrees Lester Bangs, a character in the new musical “Almost Famous.”Alas, the show, which opened on Broadway on Thursday, gets the wrong part of that formula right. Though celebrating the rock world of 1973, when the real Lester Bangs was the field’s most influential critic, “Almost Famous” is neither glorious nor righteous. It barely even has a form.That leaves dumb, and I’m sorry to say that despite the intelligence of the 2000 movie on which it’s based, and the track record of its creators, the stage musical misses every opportunity to be the sharp, smart entertainment it might have been. In retelling the story of a 15-year-old who gets sucked prematurely into the world of bands and groupies and roadies and drugs, it lands instead in a mystifying muddle, occasionally diverting but never affecting.It needn’t have been that way; the source material is rich. But perhaps because the story is semi-autobiographical, Cameron Crowe, who wrote and directed the movie, apparently saw little reason to rethink it for the stage. The 15-year-old, William Miller (Casey Likes), still sets out, under the tutelage of Bangs (Rob Colletti), to be a rock journalist. When Rolling Stone, thinking he is much older, assigns him to cover a middling band called Stillwater — a composite of several groups Crowe actually toured with — William is torn between Bangs’s warning not to befriend his subjects and his own craving to be cool.But musical theater is a radically different beast from film, let alone life, and Crowe, working with the composer and co-lyricist, Tom Kitt, and the director Jeremy Herrin, does not seem to have accounted for that. The screenplay limited itself to William’s point of view, revealing the other main characters — especially Stillwater’s frontman, Russell Hammond, and his muse, Penny Lane — through the boy’s adoring eyes. William himself was characterized almost entirely by the act of watching, which was sufficient and even necessary to Crowe’s purposes.Solea Pfeiffer as Penny Lane, with Likes’s William. The Broadway show, our critic writes, reduces the story to little more than a love triangle linking William, Penny and Stillwater’s frontman, Russell Hammond.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesA musical can’t work that way. If he’s going to sing — and if he’s the protagonist he has to — William must have something worth singing about. But Crowe and Kitt have given him only one real solo, the excellent “No Friends,” which is engaging because it grapples with a real conflict the boy faces. One is not enough, and though Likes, making his Broadway debut at 20, is appealing in the role and delivers when given the chance, there’s a hole at the center of the story that no amount of stage business can disguise.Not that Herrin doesn’t try. “Almost Famous” is one of the busiest book musicals I can recall, the stage so constantly and minutely activated (with choreography by Sarah O’Gleby) that it soon seems as flat and futile as an ant farm. Big moments, like Hammond’s acid-fueled dive from the roof of a house into a swimming pool, barely register; the settings by Derek McLane are resolutely unspectacular. And even in ordinary moments, filled with overdrawn caricatures slamming into one another, it’s often difficult to locate the important information amid all the empty industry.The same underwhelming overload hampers the music, which is obviously a bigger problem for a musical. Of the astounding 30 numbers listed in the program, only seven are what I’d call real theater songs. They are useful in establishing William’s overprotective mother (tartly played by Anika Larsen) and, in “Morocco,” the show’s best tune, Solea Pfeiffer’s dreamy but slippery Penny. “The Night-Time Sky’s Got Nothing on You,” a duet for her and Russell (Chris Wood), sounds, as it should, like an actual love song of the era, but for once with lyrics that trace a theatrical arc.Unfortunately, most of the rest of the songs are fragments, reprises or ensemble numbers so spliced with dialogue and served up in small bits as to nullify their expressive value. Some of them might be quite nice — Kitt’s melodies are never uninteresting — if they could just be sung through.But the show’s biggest musical problem comes from the fact that an unmanageably large proportion of its songs, perhaps a third, are covers. Originally made famous by the likes of the Allman Brothers Band, Deep Purple, Stevie Wonder and Led Zeppelin, these are performed diegetically, in whole or in part, in concert or backstage scenes.The use of covers made sense in the realistic format of the movie, where they add granular texture to William’s love affair with the world he was watching. But in the fundamentally surreal world of a musical, familiar pop tunes are like junk food, providing a ping of stimulation with no nutrition. Ending the first act with the company singing Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” — staged for our pleasure, not William’s — thus seems like a cheat and a sop.Foreground from left: Likes (kneeling), Brandon Contreras, Chris Wood and Drew Gehling in the musical.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesA musical is not, ideally, a singalong. Nor is it a tone poem, in which it might be sufficient for songs simply to create a mood and please the ear. (At least the ones here do please the ear; they are for the most part well performed, if rarely with any special charisma.) Even the best of recent jukebox musicals have demonstrated the form’s inherent pitfalls in the process of overcoming them; the worst have demonstrated its bankruptcy. So why did the producers and the creative team of “Almost Famous” fall at least partway into the same traps?I can only conclude that they wanted to hedge their bets on material that as originally conceived seemed commercially dangerous. A quiet, personal look at the way a loud, popular medium inflates and then punctures private dreams may not have seemed very Broadway.And yet that’s exactly what coming to Broadway — a loud, popular medium if ever there was one — has done to “Almost Famous.” The workaround reduces the story to a far more conventional one, little more than a love triangle linking William, Penny and Russell. With no broader implications to give it gravitas, no real investigation of the way the rock revolution altered our concepts of celebrity, it floats away into the jukebox ether.If you believe that Lester Bangs’s precept applies equally to musicals — and it’s true that many fine ones are gloriously and righteously dumb — you might not mind that. But if you care about the form, you may wish “Almost Famous” had aimed (as its Stevie Wonder cover urges) for higher ground.Almost FamousAt the Bernard B. Jacobs Theater, Manhattan; almostfamousthemusical.com. Running time: 2 hours 30 minutes. More

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      The Philharmonic Tests Its New Home With the Classics

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      David Geffen Hall reopened with a month of concerts that sketched a possible future for the New York Philharmonic. Now it’s back to business.The new David Geffen Hall has opened — and opened, and opened.In 1962, one performance was enough to cut the ribbon on the New York Philharmonic’s home at Lincoln Center. Sixty years — and many tweaks later, big and small — it took four weeks of festivities to celebrate the acoustically and aesthetically troubled hall’s decades-in-the-making, $550 million gut renovation.A month of opening nights: Call it inflation.I was in the hall for nearly all of those nights. For a crowd-pleasing concert dedicated to the people who constructed it. For a sober jazz-meets-classical, multimedia exploration of the history of the neighborhood razed to build the center.For an evening with the folksy mandolin virtuoso Chris Thile, the coziness of which shocked anyone who had ever been to the drafty, dingy barn that was the hall pre-renovation. For the unveiling of three series in the glassed-in Sidewalk Studio. For the flashing lights, booming electronics and pitch-bending vocal octet of a slew of premieres.For not one but two fund-raising galas: first, a genial if never showstopping parade of Broadway stars like Bernadette Peters, Lin-Manuel Miranda and, the urbane highlight, Vanessa Williams; then, two days later, a brusque romp through Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony (which PBS will air and stream on Friday).For an open house last weekend with aerialists rappelling down the building’s facade, and a test of the 50-foot screen that will simulcast concerts to those who wander into the lobby. (The quality of the video is already crisp; the sound is a work in progress.)Members of Bandaloop performed an aerialist act as part of Geffen Hall’s open house weekend. Richard Termine/Lincoln CenterBy Wednesday, the confetti had settled. And after all that, we were deposited back into the standard repertory.The Reopening of David Geffen HallThe New York Philharmonic’s notoriously jinxed auditorium at Lincoln Center has undergone a $550 million renovation.Reborn, Again: The renovation of the star-crossed hall aims to break its acoustic curse — and add a dash of glamour.Who Is David Geffen?: The entertainment magnate, who jump-started the renovation, has become avidly sought by culture and education leaders looking to finance a wave of new construction.San Juan Hill: Etienne Charles’s composition for the reopening of the hall honors the Afro-diasporic musical heritage of the neighborhood razed to build Lincoln Center.Expert Assessment: Right after the reopening our critic wrote that the renovation had a mightily improved sound. In the weeks that followed his feelings became more complicated.Because, for all of Geffen’s intended uses — as a community center and high school graduation spot, as a pop venue and corporate event rental — it is, first and foremost, a traditional orchestra hall. If Wednesday’s program, a Mozart piano concerto and a Bruckner symphony, didn’t work here, nothing else would matter — not the more spacious lobbies or the auditorium’s wraparound seating or the stylish restaurant.Beethoven’s Ninth had been a return to the wholly unamplified and wholly familiar, but in one-night-only, hastily rehearsed form. Wednesday was the back-to-business moment: the real opening night, a culmination of a month’s testing of the space, its acoustics and its house band.Weeks of performances under the Philharmonic’s music director, Jaap van Zweden, had begun to form a portrait of Geffen’s sound: clear, clean and adroitly balanced, but a little colorless and cool, even chilly. Soft passages glistened, solos popped, and there was a palpable sense of the bass frequencies that had struggled in earlier iterations of the hall. Reducing audience capacity by 500 and pulling the stage forward to let seating encircle it resulted in a far more engaging experience.But especially when the playing was loud and densely massed, the clarity muddied, and there was little sense of the enveloping richness that is one of the great joys of hearing an orchestra live. The music blared at your face when it should have surrounded you.There was appealing intimacy and considerable warmth on Wednesday, though, in an account of Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 22 that featured Yefim Bronfman — a veteran too often taken for granted — playing with lucid, gentle eloquence. He was the first real, acoustic concerto soloist in the new space, and he was a gallant partner; the piano, properly, sounded somewhere both inside and in front of the orchestra. In the slow second movement, silky, misty strings made a poised counterpart to familial interplay in the winds.Van Zweden, as in his breakneck second movement in Beethoven’s Ninth, pressed the third-movement Allegro of the Mozart a few shades past comfort. You get the sense that he thinks this kind of breathlessness transmits excitement, but it comes off as harried rather than thrilling or witty.His briskness can bulldoze eddies of feeling. A few moments before the end of the Mozart, the rambunctious mood suddenly shifts for maybe 10 seconds of wistful sublimity. The passage is over before you know it, whisked back to a spirited rondo, but it epitomizes the piece’s — and its composer’s — mixing of the jovial and aching. Van Zweden zipped through it to the final bars.And in Bruckner’s Seventh Symphony, his prioritization of lyrical flow — overall, a welcome sense of naturalness from a conductor better known for punchy climaxes — pressed the Adagio slightly too fast to allow for the building of what can be excruciating intensity. The Finale was, unusually, more moving, with its seesawing between peace and war; in van Zweden’s smooth, happy-minded rendition of the work, neither too heavy nor hectoring, it was no surprise which side eventually triumphed.The playing wasn’t flawless. There was a lack of depth in the mesmerizing unwinding lines for the violins in the Adagio, and some iffy intonation in the brasses. But there wasn’t the sense I had had in earlier concerts, particularly when I was sitting on the ground level, of distance or almost clinical detachment in the sound.Jaap van Zweden leading the Philharmonic in Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 22, featuring Yefim Bronfman as soloist.Fadi KheirOr of that blare. Even if the brasses sometimes felt overly bright at top volume, there was more transparency and better blend at those heights. The consistent problem since the opening remains the hard, strident sound that the violins take on at the top of their range and force.This may be the playing of an orchestra that tends aggressive — in other words, something that can be fixed — rather than a feature of the room itself. Or it might be a shortcoming of the hall, a slight but consequential lack of sufficient reverberation.Only time will tell: Such are the ambiguities of acoustics. But some of the concerns about the basic sound of the place that I’d had over the past few weeks were assuaged on Wednesday; the orchestra is, as expected, adapting to its new home, so impressions are evolving, too.This Mozart-Bruckner pairing signals a return to the classics after the showy progressivism of the opening month’s programming. That multimedia event early in October, Etienne Charles’s “San Juan Hill,” was essentially an 80-minute land acknowledgment, mustering narration, archival images, poetic filmed reconstructions of street life early in the 20th century, oral history, notation and improvisation to sketch a lost community.After the piece opened with a long set by a jazz ensemble, the Philharmonic awkwardly shuffled onstage in the wake of a section called “Destroyer”: interlopers invading an already vibrant culture. The self-castigating aspect felt very much of our moment. Then, of the two October subscription programs, the first was dominated by living composers. The second featured a half-hour premiere by Caroline Shaw and was anchored by a rediscovered symphony by Florence Price; in an inversion of the usual format, the opener was the standard — Debussy’s “Prélude à l’Après-midi d’un Faune” — rather than a new piece.This is all hardly the model for what is coming up. There are intriguing scores being performed: Bartok’s Concerto for Two Pianos and Percussion gets a rare hearing in a couple of weeks, and the Philharmonic has never played Shostakovich’s 12th Symphony, which is scheduled for the beginning of December.But while there’s no shortage of contemporary pieces this season, living composers — or even unusual selections from the past — get that anchor slot at the end of the concert only a few times. October sketched a possible future for the Philharmonic; it didn’t describe the present.That future will be guided by a new music director; van Zweden, hardly a driving creative force even before the pandemic break separated him from the ensemble, is leaving after next season. Over the coming months both promising younger artists (the likes of Santtu-Matias Rouvali and Klaus Makela) and veterans (Marin Alsop, Gianandrea Noseda) make guest appearances. Gustavo Dudamel, the star maestro of the Los Angeles Philharmonic, who returns in May, is the elephant in the room.Whoever ends up with the job will be a crucial part of the continuing adjustment to the new hall, a process that will not be over soon. The promise of the space is clear. The building is far more spacious and comfortable than it was, even if the public spaces evoke the mid-market casualness of an airport terminal — usable but disposable — more than an inspiring house of culture.Every aspect of the hall seems to have embraced this half-vulgar, half-lovable ethos. First I cringed, then I giggled, at one of the orchestra’s cellists, who has recorded the “please silence your cellphones” announcement that plays as the lights dim.“Now here,” she concludes with goofy, irresistible relish, like she’s channeling Ed McMahon, “comes the music!” More

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      When Technology Makes Music More Accessible

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      In Britain and Ireland, a series of recent projects show the rich possibilities when disability and neurodiversity are considered in the creative process.LONDON — As the audience at Cafe OTO, a venue here, settled down to hear Neil Luck introduce his ambitious new piece, “Whatever Weighs You Down,” bemused smiles flickered across many faces.The evening’s performances had already featured an intriguing selection of musical technologies, including sensor gloves, text-to-speech software and recordings of bird song processed by artificial intelligence.So when Luck launched into a low-tech étude, raucously inflating a balloon while gasping into a microphone, audience members couldn’t help but laugh.A dark humor punctuated “Whatever Weighs You Down,” a bizarre, violent 40-minute work for piano, video, electronics and sensor gloves. It was the centerpiece of an evening that presented works made with Cyborg Soloists, a multiyear, 1.4 million-pound ($1.6 million) project, led by the pianist and composer Zubin Kanga, to advance interdisciplinary music-making through new interactions with technology.“Whatever Weighs You Down” is one of several experimental works that recently premiered in Britain and Ireland that show the rich musical possibilities when disability and neurodiversity are incorporated into the creative process. These works also point to newly developed technologies as both malleable tools for expressing diverse perspectives in experimental music, and as potentially enabling greater accessibility to composition, which traditionally has been a rarefied and exclusive world.In recent years, increasing attention has been paid, particularly in Britain, to making classical music more accessible. This includes the widespread adoption of what are called relaxed performances in concert halls — where audiences are allowed to make noise — and the creation of professional ensembles for disabled musicians, such as BSO Resound, part of the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra, and the Paraorchestra, which is based in Bristol, England.For “Whatever Weighs You Down,” Luck worked closely with the Deaf performance artist Chisato Minamimura, who in the piece appeared on a video screen and used sign language to retell her own dreams about falling, one of the main themes of Luck’s work.More About on Deaf CultureUpending Perceptions: The poetic art of Christine Sun Kim, who was born deaf, challenges viewers to reconsider how they hear and perceive the world. Language in Evolution: Ubiquitous video technology and social media have given deaf people a new way to communicate. They’re using it to transform American Sign Language. Seeking Representation: Though deafness is gaining visibility onscreen, deaf people who rely on hearing devices say their experiences remain mostly untold. Name Signs: Name signs are the equivalent of a first name in some sign languages. We asked a few people to share the story behind theirs.In “Whatever Weighs You Down,” Minamimura wanted to express a deaf perspective on sound and music. “I have hearing loss, but I can feel things — I can feel sounds,” she said in a recent video interview via an interpreter. Workshops to develop the piece involved Minamimura responding to vibrations wherever she could find them: pressing her full body against the lid of the piano, feeling the underside of the soundboard and even biting the strings of certain instruments.As the performance of “Whatever Weighs You Down” drew to a close, it reached a striking semi-synthesis. Onscreen, Minamimura’s gestures mirrored Kanga’s onstage hand movements. Both performers provided a kind of accompaniment for each other, experienced in entirely different ways by audience members, depending on their relationship to sound.“Traditionally, music is just heard in an auditory sense,” Minamimura said, “but, of course, we can see someone playing a piano or playing a flute. For me, technology means incorporating a film, visuals, or a general feeling of something else; we’re adding more sensory experiences for an audience.”Chisato Minamimura’s 2019 piece “Scored in Silence” was created with the aim of giving deaf individuals a comparable experience to hearing individuals.Mark PickthallZubin Kanga leads Cyborg Soloists, a multiyear, 1.4 million-pound project to advance interdisciplinary music-making through new interactions with technology.Kalpesh Lathigra for The New York TimesCreating music that incorporates multisensory experience is just one of the areas Cyborg Soloists explores. The project, supported by the government-funded U.K. Research and Innovation Future Leaders Fellowship, also involves new types of visual interactions, including virtual reality, the creation of new digital instruments and the use of artificial intelligence and machine learning.The next frontier for Kanga, he said, is finding a way to translate brain activity from electroencephalogram caps into sound. And in Ireland, a recent installation explores a similar process.The visual artist Owen Boss described the first time he heard the sonic reproduction of a brain mid-seizure as “an absolutely extraordinary moment,” describing “a very low-end bass sound, kind of rhythmic, it just emerges in these sweeping, intense bass noises that whoosh in and whoosh out.”The sound files were created by Mark Cunningham, a professor of neurophysiology of epilepsy at Trinity College Dublin, who analyzed slivers of removed brain tissue that had been put through a process that simulated a seizure. He translated the analysis into binary code, and then into sound. Inspired by those deeply jarring reverberations and his family’s own experience, Boss then began piecing together an installation, “The Wernicke’s Area,” which is named after the part of the brain involved in understanding speech. The installation is showing at the Irish Museum of Modern Art.In 2014, Boss’s wife, Debbie Boss, had surgery to remove a brain tumor. The procedure was successful — the tumor was removed from her brain’s Wernicke’s area — but there were some side effects: The former soprano developed epilepsy and also now finds communication challenging.The violist Stephen Upshaw and the mezzo-soprano Rosie Middleton took performance directions for “The Wernicke’s Area” from diaries Debbie Boss kept about her seizures.Pat RedmondWith his wife’s permission, Boss and the composer Emily Howard created what he calls “a portrait of Debbie,” a multimedia work including details from the diaries she kept of her seizures, images of her brain, warped snippets of her favorite Handel aria and a variety of electroacoustic music drawn from data produced by artificially induced brain seizures.For all involved, the first performance of “The Wernicke’s Area” was an extremely moving experience, particularly for the Boss family. Debbie Boss became emotional “watching people do what she couldn’t do anymore,” her husband said. Yet, because she wasn’t directly involved in shaping the work, there’s a slight distance to “The Wernicke’s Area.”Lived experience plays a large role in the work of the composer Megan Steinberg, which places neurodiverse and disabled practitioners in all aspects of the creative process.Steinberg’s “Outlier II,” created with the Distractfold ensemble and the artists Elle Chante and Luke Moore, explores, in musical form, how artificial intelligence, or A.I., can exclude disabled people by working off a generalized understanding of human experience. “Outlier II” involves an A.I.-generated melody that generalizes over time, gradually losing nuance before being disrupted by a series of chance-based improvisations.Steinberg considered accessibility from the start of the creative process, and produced scores that were tailored to each performer’s needs.“That’s so rare in arts environments,” said Chante, a vocalist with hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, a condition affecting her joints. “Normally, it’s like, ‘Oh, we’ve got this thing, and we want it to be accessible.’ Here, it’s, ‘We want to be accessible, and here’s this piece we’re trying to create.’ And that made a giant difference.”A graphic score created for Megan Steinberg’s “Outlier II.”via Megan SteinbergProjects like these also produce music that is more representative of the breadth of human experience, according to Cat McGill, the head of program development at Drake Music, an arts charity focused on music, disability and technology. These projects “force us to challenge our thinking around disability and neurodiversity,” she wrote in an email interview.“If we approach a situation with the assumption that each individual has a unique contribution to make, rather than feeling like we need to fix them,” McGill added, “we embrace the differences as a natural part of humanity.” More

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      Takeoff, of Atlanta Rap Trio Migos, Shot Dead at 28 in Houston

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      The rapper was killed in a shooting at a bowling alley in Houston overnight.The 28-year-old rapper, whose real name is Kirsnick Khari Ball, was killed in a shooting at a bowling alley in Houston.Rich Fury/Getty Images For Global CitizenThe rapper known as Takeoff, a subtle vocal technician and one-third of the chart-topping group Migos, whose singsong flow helped define Atlanta’s ever-evolving, influential rap sound, was shot and killed overnight outside a Houston bowling alley, the authorities said. He was 28.Chief Troy Finner of the Houston Police Department confirmed the rapper’s death at a news conference on Tuesday afternoon. A 24-year-old woman and a 23-year-old man were taken to local hospitals with non-life-threatening injuries, the police said.The police said the shooting occurred after a private party had ended at 810 Billiards & Bowling, as a large group of about 40 people gathered near the front door on the third level. An argument ensued and shots were fired from at least two weapons, they said, leading to many people fleeing.“We have no reason to believe that he was involved in anything criminal at the time,” Chief Finner said of Takeoff.No suspects have been arrested, the authorities said, and they requested that any witnesses who left the scene come forward with additional information.“Sometimes the hip-hop community gets a bad name,” Chief Finner said. “I’m calling up on everybody — our hip-hop artists in Houston and around the nation — we’ve got to police ourselves. There are so many talented individuals, men and women, in that community, who again I love and I respect, and we all need to stand together and make sure no one tears down that industry.”The commercial area where Takeoff was killed was quiet on a rainy Tuesday evening, with some young fans trickling past a few bouquets of roses and lit candles.“When I heard the news it got me to tears,” Tatiana Battle, 23, said. “Migos’s music got me through breakups, graduation, celebrations. And now I can’t listen to them anymore because it will never be the same.”It was Takeoff’s childhood obsession with Southern hip-hop that first inspired Migos as young teenagers in the Atlanta suburbs of Gwinnett County, on its way to becoming one of the biggest rap acts of the last decade, known for hits like “Versace” and “Bad and Boujee.”Even as he dodged celebrity and maintained almost no public profile, Takeoff became a connoisseur’s fan favorite of the trio, and was credited with initiating the stuttering, triplet delivery that came to infiltrate hip-hop and trickle into the pop sphere.Drew Findling, a lawyer for Takeoff and confidant to many rap stars, called his death “a devastating loss, particularly for Atlanta.”“When you’re around Takeoff, there’s a sense of peacefulness about his aura,” Mr. Findling said. “He listens to you, he looks at you, he’s more focused on what you have to say than what he has to say. The world was starting to learn about Takeoff. It was his time to shine.”Before becoming international rap superstars — and ushering in a new period of dominance for Atlanta music in the streaming era — Migos, which also included the rappers Offset and Quavo, was founded as a family bedroom act northeast of the city, in an area that Migos came to brand as the “Nawfside.”After releasing its first independent mixtape as Migos, “Juug Season,” in 2011, and then gaining local buzz and tastemaker attention with the track “Bando,” the trio rose to national prominence with the single “Versace” in 2013. The remix, though never commercially released, featured an appearance by Drake, who mimicked the group’s burgeoning signature pattern of rapid-fire, rollicking raps, known as a triplet flow, in which three syllables are piled rhythmically onto one beat to hypnotic effect.A New York Times review of Migos’s 2013 mixtape, “Y.R.N.,” called the group “insistent, noisy and chaotic” and “perpetually in fifth gear.”Pairing a punchy rap style that could sound broody or elated with sticky, repetitive hooks — like Takeoff’s defining choruses on “Fight Night” and “T-Shirt” — Migos’s trademark delivery would go on to become a go-to mode for popular music throughout the 2010s, as used by artists including Travis Scott and Ariana Grande. In 2021, former President Barack Obama put “Straightenin,” from Migos’s album “Culture III,” on his summer playlist, alongside songs by Rihanna, Joni Mitchell and Stevie Wonder.In late 2016 and early 2017, the group soared to A-list fame around the world thanks to “Bad and Boujee,” a spare, uncompromising track featuring Lil Uzi Vert — but not Takeoff, who was absent from the song — that spent three weeks at No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100.In what may be Takeoff’s defining moment outside of the recording studio, he was once asked in a red carpet interview about being left off the track, drawing the visible ire of the entire group.“Do it look like I’m left off ‘Bad and Boujee’?” Takeoff responded, referring to sharing the financial windfall and fame with Quavo and Offset.The track became one of the first megahits of the streaming era, and has been streamed more than 1.5 billion times in the United States alone. The group’s subsequent 2017 album, “Culture,” debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard chart and earned Migos one of its two Grammy nominations.In an interview with The New York Times ahead of the album’s release, Takeoff compared the moment to Christmas Eve. “You just know that everything you asked for is going to be there up under that Christmas tree,” he said, his often-downcast eyes lighting up. “It’s our time now.”In the years since, Migos has released two sequels to “Culture,” and singles including “MotorSport,” “I Get the Bag” and “Walk It Talk It,” also with Drake. Takeoff’s solo album, “The Last Rocket,” came out in 2018, and debuted at No. 4 on the Billboard 200. Last month, Takeoff and Quavo — without the third Migos member, Offset — released the album “Only Built for Infinity Links,” which went to No. 7.Takeoff, whose real name is Kirsnick Khari Ball, was born on June 18, 1994, and grew up in Lawrenceville, Ga. He “always wanted to rap,” he told The Fader, a music magazine, in a 2013 interview, and found his group mates close to home: Takeoff and Quavo, his uncle, were raised by Quavo’s mother, Edna, a hairstylist. She is frequently shouted out in Migos songs as “Mama!”The first of the group to fall hard for rap music while the others played football, Takeoff soaked up music that he discovered online and bought at the flea market, particularly Southern rappers like Gucci Mane, T.I., Lil Wayne and his early group the Hot Boys, which provided a blueprint for Migos’s later success.As a duo initially called Polo Club, Takeoff and Quavo began performing music in their teens at the local skating rink, and released a mixtape when Takeoff was still middle-school age. Offset began spending time at Edna’s house and considered Takeoff and Quavo his cousins. Together, they started to map out a sound — waterfalls of rolling verses, ecstatic chanted phrases, jabbing background ad-libs — that was catchy and distinctive.The trio came to the notice of the local executives Pierre Thomas (known as P) and Kevin Lee (Coach K), who founded a label, Quality Control, around the trio in 2013. Already, Migos had fallen under the tutelage of the local rapper and talent scout Gucci Mane, who had heard the group’s early track “Bando,” and signed them to a cash deal.But with Gucci Mane in prison, P and Coach K became the group’s primary boosters, developing a grass-roots artist development strategy that they would later employ with other breakout acts like Lil Yachty and Lil Baby.Musically, it was Takeoff who first drew P’s attention with his bouncy, melodic triplet raps that the executive said reminded him of the ’90s group Bone Thugs-n-Harmony. “The music was crazy,” P later said, “but what made me really want to go hard for them is that they packed all their clothes and moved into the studio — literally lived there, sleeping on reclining chairs and making music all day.”P had long heralded Takeoff as an unsung talent, given his reserved mien and lack of self-aggrandizing. “If he cared more about this rap game he would definitely be stepping on y’all,” the executive wrote on Twitter in May, “but unfortunately he don’t.”He added that he’d been that way since they first met. “Nothing has changed with him.”Describing Migos’s maximalist approach to music in The Fader, Takeoff said the group would make about “seven songs a day,” spending no more than 15 minutes on each track. Working on a song for any longer “kills the vibe,” Takeoff said. “You gotta have fun with a song, make somebody laugh,” he added. “You gotta have character.”In the summer of 2020, Takeoff was accused of rape in a lawsuit by a woman who said she was assaulted at a house party in Encino, Calif. A lawyer representing the rapper called the claims “patently and provably false” and said Takeoff was known for his “quiet, reserved and peaceful personality.” The Los Angeles County District Attorney’s Office declined to prosecute the case because of a lack of evidence, according to Pitchfork.Recently, Migos had been coy about its future as a group as Offset battled in court with the trio’s label. But in interviews, Quavo emphasized familial loyalty and said that he and Takeoff would continue as a duo, which they sometimes referred to as Unc’ and ’Phew.“We don’t know all the answers,” Takeoff, always a man of few words, said last month on the “Big Facts” podcast. “God knows. And we pray, so only time will tell.”Reporting was contributed by More

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      Hear How Takeoff and the Migos Flow Changed Atlanta Rap

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      Quick-jabbing triplets had been a staple of rap, but the trio made the style sound fresh, thanks in large part to Takeoff, its master of syncopation. The rapper was shot and killed at 28 on Tuesday.The Atlanta trio Migos’ 2013 breakout hit “Versace” represented a clear demarcation line between the city’s older generation of rappers and its new vanguard. The rapping — much of it delivered in triplets — was a glittery stomp. Tightly clustered syllables that landed like quick jabs.“Versace” was such an immediate sensation that Drake, at the time the genre’s most important ascendant superstar, volunteered his services for a remix, mimicking the group’s peppery flow and, by extension, introducing it to the rest of the world.By all accounts, Takeoff — who was shot and killed in Houston early Tuesday morning — was the primary engine of what came to be dubbed the Migos flow.The rapper, who was 28, was one of three people who were shot around 2:30 a.m. after a private gathering at 810 Billiards & Bowling ended in an argument. (The other two victims are expected to survive. No arrests have been made, the authorities said.)The triplet pattern that became a Migos signature wasn’t new to hip-hop: It was a fixture in Memphis rap for years, in the work of Three 6 Mafia and others, and it was part of the cadence-bending arsenal of the Cleveland sing-rap pioneers Bone Thugs-N-Harmony. But Migos made the style sound fresh, less performative and more glossy. It had a hurried urgency and also the briskness of rough-and-tumble triumph.Such is the nature of hip-hop innovation — sometimes it’s about what is said, but just as often, it’s about how it’s said. And the triplet flow that Migos popularized in the mid-2010s became a standard-bearer for the genre, setting a generation of Atlanta rap afloat.Atlanta was already the center of hip-hop innovation when Migos arrived, but the trio was primed for streaming-era success — pulsing with youthful energy, leaning heavily on catchy choruses, collaborating widely. After the viral success of its 2016 hit “Bad and Boujee,” Migos released a pair of albums, “Culture” and “Culture II,” that each debuted at the top of the Billboard albums chart and spawned several hits, including “MotorSport,” “Stir Fry” and “Walk It Talk It.”The prior wave of Atlanta stars like Gucci Mane and Young Jeezy captured ears with imagistic storytelling and signature vocal texture. By comparison, Migos sounded addled, anxious, pugnacious. They were untethered from earlier rap conventions. As the rest of Atlanta rap leaned toward the psychedelic — beginning with Future, then pivoting to Young Thug, and eventually the more commercially minded Gunna and Lil Baby — Migos, and Takeoff especially, held fast to its mechanistic idiosyncrasies.Takeoff was by far the most reserved figure in Migos, which also featured Quavo and Offset. But he was deeply technically gifted, a master of syncopation, with a deftness that could render even the toughest talk exuberantly.That talent shone on the group’s earliest songs, catching the ear of Pierre Thomas, known to most as P, one of the founders of Quality Control Music, the dominant Atlanta rap label of the past decade. In 2017, Thomas recalled to Rap Radar how Gucci Mane had introduced him to Migos’ music, and how Takeoff stood out.“Gucci sent me the song. He sent me the video. I was like, ‘Man, the dude with the long dreads’ — it was Takeoff — I was like, ‘That dude there is crazy.’ The way he was spitting it reminded me of Bone Thugs, like how they used to be rapping back in the day.”“Versace” appeared on the third Migos mixtape, “Y.R.N.,” which was released in 2013 and remains one of the decade’s defining rap albums. Over the next couple of years, which would see the ascendance of Migos to hip-hop superstardom, the Migos flow expanded past triplets to a broader umbrella that emphasized the staccato.Even as the group moved in a more melodic direction through the 2010s, Takeoff remained resolute in his commitment to innovative rhyme patterns. He set the tempo of “Fight Night,” one of the group’s signature early hits featuring perhaps its most pointedly rhythmic rapping. On “Cross the Country,” from 2014, he opened with a dizzying verse, switching patterns several times. And last year, on a punishing freestyle on the Los Angeles radio station Power 106, Takeoff delivered a verse that took the group’s classic triplet flow as a starting point and thickened it, demonstrating how on top of one novel idea, a whole mansion could be built. More

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      5 Minutes That Will Make You Love Ornette Coleman

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      We asked writers, critics and musicians including Kamasi Washington, Nubya Garcia and Shabaka Hutchings to tell us how they connect with Coleman’s fearless artistry.Over the past three months, The New York Times has asked musicians, writers and scholars to share the favorites that would make a friend fall in love with jazz — starting with Duke Ellington, then moving on to Alice Coltrane and bebop.This month, we focus on Ornette Coleman, the iconoclastic saxophonist and bandleader whose style prioritized atonal chords over traditional rhythm and harmony, which helped establish the subgenre of free jazz in the late 1950s. Though the rules of what jazz entailed would soften a decade later, as musicians like Herbie Hancock and Miles Davis began mixing the genre with elements of funk and rock, Coleman’s approach was controversial at first, leading to ridicule or even violence. Davis once said that Coleman was “all screwed up inside.” In 1959, the drummer Max Roach punched him in the mouth after hearing him play. “In New York, I’m telling you, guys literally would say, ‘I’m going to kill you. You can’t play that way,’” Coleman once said.Yet you don’t become legendary by doing the same old thing, and Coleman was confident and fearless in his artistry. Through albums like “Something Else!!!!,” “The Shape of Jazz to Come” and “Free Jazz,” Coleman stuck to his vision and earned respect in the long run. In 2007, his album “Sound Grammar” won the Pulitzer Prize for Music. Coleman is now considered a pioneer in avant-garde jazz.Enjoy listening to excerpts from these tracks selected by a range of musicians, writers and critics. You can find a playlist with full-length songs at the bottom of the article, and be sure to leave your own Coleman favorites in the comments.◆ ◆ ◆Nubya Garcia, musicianI felt a true sense of freedom when I first listened to the album “The Shape of Jazz to Come.” This was my first experience with free jazz; the tracks “Peace” and “Lonely Woman” truly resonated with me. The title of the album was also incredibly bold and decisive — this really pulled me in and I was pretty intrigued. I’d never heard anything like it before!What struck me on “Peace” was the clear, incredibly melodic theme. In each listen I kept hearing things I hadn’t before: the hookup between the horns and rhythm section, the intricacies throughout; the rhythmic motifs in Ornette’s solo; the bebop language; his instantly recognizable sound and tone, with melodic lines full of questions and answers. The driving groove and walking bass line keeps you locked in and wondering where it’s going to go. Both Coleman and Don Cherry just soar through the tune.I am so grateful to have seen Ornette play when I was very young, at the Royal Festival Hall in London. It’s pretty crazy to think I’ve been listening to this record on and off for almost 20 years!“Peace”Ornette Coleman (Rhino Atlantic)◆ ◆ ◆James Brandon Lewis, musicianThe first time I listened to Ornette Coleman as a young person I was like, what’s the problem? Like really, what’s the controversy? I honestly don’t get it. Of course this could have been my own nature relating to his vibe or my naïveté according to my own taught understanding concerning the way jazz is “supposed to be played,” but the way he played it sounded natural, organic and of the earth and womb.“Broken Shadows” is a composition of Coleman’s I often play in his memory and that of a fellow jazz great, the bassist Charlie Haden, his dear friend, collaborator and my teacher while I was a student at the California Institute of the Arts. Haden, upon showing us this tune, would describe meeting Ornette at his house and depicting a scene so vividly, saying music literally covered everything — the floors, the walls, the doors. As a young student this was inspiring. Like most Ornette Coleman tunes, “Broken Shadows” is lyrical, speech-like and hymn-like in nature, as well as melodically sophisticated. I would hear “Broken Shadows” not on the record with that name but on the album “The Complete Science Fiction Sessions,” which features a whole host of amazing musicians and another influence of mine, Dewey Redman.“Broken Shadows”Ornette Coleman (Columbia/Legacy)◆ ◆ ◆Piotr Orlov, writerOrnette Coleman’s influence over the American century is as much philosophic as it is musical — and on occasion his worldview was central to the fabric of a recording. The Double Quartet of “Free Jazz” was one occasion; and “Friends and Neighbors,” a distinctive recording in Ornette’s catalog, is another. It’s a mass singalong (there’s also an instrumental version) performed by a crowd gathered in the building he co-owned at 131 Prince Street in SoHo (soon to become known as Artist House, helping initiate Manhattan’s loft jazz era), accompanied by the bassist Charlie Haden and the drummer Ed Blackwell leading a funky swing, the tenor Dewey Redman’s sweet melody and Coleman on violin, thrashing about noisily. “Friends and neighbors/that’s where it’s at,” the choir intones, its living intentions represented by the ditty and its lo-fi recording — four minutes of almost punk simplicity. Recorded on Feb. 14, 1970, it was also synchronized with the universal aspirations of two other musical events taking place in Lower Manhattan that night: Six blocks away, at 647 Broadway, David Mancuso was hosting his own initial loft gathering, a dance party called Love Saves the Day, which went on to define the fellowship potential of D.J. culture. And the Grateful Dead, who adapted Ornette’s free jazz lessons for the psychedelic rock crowd, was at the Fillmore East, engaged in a historic New York City stand.“Friends and Neighbors” (Vocal Version)Ornette Coleman (Ace Records)◆ ◆ ◆Idris Ackamoor, musicianThe jazz outlaw dancing, weaving, bopping, singing with alto plastic full of human feeling, full breath-propelled runs: a serenade for “a very pretty girl.” The jazz outsider scorned by the insiders as he blows a change of the century in 4/4 time. When walls come tumbling down, earth-shattering notes explode and blast the unbelievers with his “outsider” gang. Cherry playing barrages of spit-induced embraces, sun-drenched round sounds from the depths of Haden’s repetitive pizzicato — dum did di dum da di dum di dum — announcing “Una Muy Bonita,” as Billy the Kid’s rat-ta-tat-ta drum rolls on the swinging saloon gate announce the change of the century north and south of the border, way down Mexicali way, escaping the jazz establishment — the jazz Ayatollahs who say “no dogs or cats or outlaw music allowed in this cantina.”“Una Muy Bonita”Ornette Coleman (Rhino Atlantic)◆ ◆ ◆Shannon J. Effinger, writer“Lonely Woman” was never one of my favorites among Ornette Coleman’s prolific output. Much to my chagrin, I didn’t give it a real chance. Back in college, I felt its title alone had trivialized and belittled one’s experience based on gender.Then one day, while at a cafe in the Village, I heard this incredible piece of music, brimming with fervor and tension. That moment made me a lifelong fan of the Modern Jazz Quartet and convinced me to give Coleman’s composition a good, honest listen. Having lived with this tune, and its many renditions, for some time now, I am finally beholden to its archetype. The impetus for “Lonely Woman” reportedly came from a portrait of a wealthy white woman. What struck Coleman most was how withdrawn she looked, despite her affluence.As the drummer Billy Higgins maintains a calm, steady ride pattern, Charlie Haden sets the mood with an elegiac bass line, denoting a harrowing turn. More than 60 years later, the lamenting cries of Coleman’s alto sax and Don Cherry’s pocket trumpet, in unison, are an allegory for the disillusionment we all feel.“Lonely Woman”Ornette Coleman (Rhino Atlantic)◆ ◆ ◆David Hajdu, writerYes, there is chaos in this world, and it’s hard to process, this song reminds us. But listen: There is also beauty, and the two things can coexist in exquisitely clashing equilibrium. A rare vocal composition with words and music by Ornette, “What Reason Could I Give” was the first track on “Science Fiction,” the 1972 album that marked its creator’s new phase as an unfettered musical-spiritual hybridist. A quartet of free-jazz virtuosos (Dewey Redman, Carmine Fornarotto, Charlie Haden and Ed Blackwell, along with Ornette) howls and squeals in deranged fury while Asha Puthli, an Indian vocalist making her jazz debut, sings a languid melody in ethereal tones. “What reason could I give to live,” she asks, answering, “Only that I love you.” And what explanation could Ornette offer for this music? Only that he loves it.“What Reason Could I Give”Ornette Coleman (Columbia/Legacy)◆ ◆ ◆Kamasi Washington, musicianThe way the super haunting strings bending their notes interact with Ornette Coleman’s tone on “Sadness” is so beautiful to me. Ornette always creates the most interesting and beautiful colors with his music, and this piece is such an amazing example of that. It feels really sad, but somehow also comforting, like the moment when you learn how to cope with a great loss. He is such a master at creating music that is able to express complex ideas and feelings with sound. It’s like the strings represent the pain that we all experience in life and his alto saxophone is the resilience of the human heart. Because some pains never go away, we just have to become strong enough to carry them.“Sadness”Ornette Coleman (ESP Disk)◆ ◆ ◆Mark Richardson, writerThe magic of Ornette Coleman’s music lies in his mix of the familiar and the strange. He was steeped in music history and his work was fundamentally grounded in blues, but Ornette often put himself in situations where he had to come up with new solutions to thorny problems. In almost all his music, there’s a feeling of risk: This could go wrong. On the title track from the 1966 LP “The Empty Foxhole,” he’s working with two potentially worrying limitations: One, he’s on trumpet, an instrument he’d only started studying in the past few years. And two, the other member of his trio, along with his frequent collaborator, the bassist Charlie Haden, is his 10-year-old son, Denardo. But everything comes together beautifully on this mournful cut, which is drenched in blues and oozes feeling. It’s brief, mysterious and deeply moving, and once again Ornette’s fearless desire to put himself in a tough spot led to brilliance.“The Empty Foxhole”Ornette Coleman (Blue Note Records)◆ ◆ ◆Stephen Thomas Erlewine, writer“Faces and Places” can be seen as Ornette Coleman’s exploratory mid-1960s in microcosm. Opening the first volume of “At the ‘Golden Circle’ Stockholm,” a live set recorded in December 1965 with the bassist David Izenzon and the drummer Charles Moffett, the song opens tentatively yet hungrily: there’s a yearning growl in Coleman’s tone, a nervous edge that focuses attention. As “Faces and Places” stretches out over the course of 11 minutes, the trio goes further afield, with Coleman and Moffett growing increasingly manic, cramming in notes into a short bar and, in Ornette’s case, pushing his saxophone into amelodic refrains. The momentum of the performance is the key: It’s the sound of the band gaining confidence, simultaneously discovering their shared strengths. Other Ornette music may be further out, but listening to this trio in the process of ascension is exhilarating.“Faces and Places”Ornette Coleman Trio (Blue Note Records)◆ ◆ ◆Shabaka Hutchings, musicianThe language we decide to use collectively in relation to art can shape how we listen, teach and see its relevance to our culture as a complete cosmological structure. What is “free” jazz? In Ornette Coleman I hear a musician who understands that the musical idea isn’t to be limited by the notion that a song’s structural integrity is sacrosanct; freedom not as a fixed conceptual space, but as a term denoting actions relative to a pre-existing system which is limiting in some capacity. “Compassion” is set upon a somewhat conventional set of chord changes, so we are able to clearly see Ornette’s poetic and harmonic logic guide his melodic intent as it would throughout his career.“Compassion”Ornette Coleman (Contemporary Records)◆ ◆ ◆Hank Shteamer, writerEven for the listener fully indoctrinated into the revolutionary sounds of the Ornette Coleman Quartet’s early work, the opening seconds of “Street Woman” — a standout of the 1971 studio sessions that reunited the saxophonist with the pocket-trumpeter Don Cherry, the bassist Charlie Haden and the drummer Billy Higgins — still have the power to startle and delight: the supercharged, Spanish-sounding theme that keeps rising to new peaks of urgency; Higgins’ furiously locomotive ride-cymbal barrage; Haden’s huge, elemental bass throb. It’s hardly surprising that when Coleman launches into his solo, with an extended wail that trails off into a series of clipped phrases, it plays like an eruption of joyous laughter. Or that Haden and Cherry sound like they’re swept up in ecstatic trances during their respective features. There’s a high-wire exhilaration that this group achieved in 1959, braiding together virtuosity and utter fearlessness, that was fully intact 12 years later — and again in 1987 when these players reconvened for Coleman’s half-acoustic, half-electric “In All Languages.”“Street Woman”Ornette Coleman (Columbia/Legacy)◆ ◆ ◆Phil Freeman, writerThough it wasn’t released until 1982, “Of Human Feelings” was recorded live in the studio in April 1979, on a two-track Sony PCM-1600 with almost no production effects. Sharp-edged and thorny, it was the most clattering, urban-jungle-like album since Miles Davis’s “On the Corner.” The guitarists Charles Ellerbee and Bern Nix were panned hard to left and right, with Denardo Coleman and G. Calvin Weston’s drums rattling along in loose unison; Jamaaladeen Tacuma’s thick, sproingy bass filled up the middle, and Coleman’s alto sax keened the earwormish melodies, his trademark exuberance newly streetwise and deeply funky. “Jump Street” has an almost disco beat at times, and Ornette, Tacuma and the guitarists are on fire throughout.“Jump Street”Ornette Coleman (Island Records)◆ ◆ ◆Camae Ayewa, poet and musicianI cry writing this. Because I am so thankful for Ornette Coleman.Just last week I was championing his masterful work “Science Fiction,” released in 1972, a brilliant expansive experience. Inspiring me to claim intergalactic space within the avant-garde, his symmetrical arrow of time created the conditions for Irreversible Entanglements to continue in his sonic tradition with improv. The art of improvisation laid down the foundation for us to stretch and create our own temporal conditions. A true African futurist, not Hollywood’s futurism or Bank of America corporate futurism. This is a futurism of heart and mind. A futurism that doesn’t rely on sight but only on feeling and knowing. A Black quantum futurism can be shared with your neighbors and friends, and the only requirement is a heart and a brain, and the only question is tomorrow, the shape of jazz to come.“Science Fiction”Ornette Coleman (Columbia/Legacy)◆ ◆ ◆ More

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      Bruno Walter, a Conductor Who Found Truth Through Beauty

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      A survey of Walter’s recorded output is fascinating for the ways in which it reveals him reinventing the traditions he was seen to represent.“Truth can be repulsive,” Bruno Walter, a conductor whose life had taught him that fact all too well, once said. “But Mozart has the power to speak truth with beauty.”If there was one composer that Walter, who was able to make beauty from truth like few others until his death in Beverly Hills in 1962, was most associated with during his career, it was that Viennese master; the story of Walter’s life, the conductor said, could be told as “the history of the development of a love for Mozart.”Listen to any of the famous stereo recordings Walter made in the twilight of his life with the Columbia Symphony Orchestra, and it is easy to understand why. Take just the introduction to the E flat symphony, No. 39, from 1960. Stately, mellow, warm, it sings with contentment, backed with a faith strong enough that when troubles darken the scene, you can practically hear Walter transfigure them with an understanding smile. It’s a gesture of benevolence, yet he makes it sound glowingly apt, even characteristic of Mozart. Not for nothing did the critic Neville Cardus once suggest that to witness Walter conduct was to be “visited by an act of grace.”Mozart: Symphony No. 39 in E flatColumbia Symphony Orchestra, 1960 (Sony)Writers often dignified Walter with spiritual metaphors — the author Stefan Zweig compared the beam on his face while conducting to “the countenance of the angels when they look upon God” — and it is revealing of his artistry that they were exactly what Walter aspired to achieve. For him, the Germanic music from Bach to Strauss was pure, uplifting, redemptive. It offered an “unchanging message of comfort,” he wrote in his memoir “Theme and Variations”; its “wordless gospel proclaims in a universal language what the thirsting soul of man is seeking beyond this life.”His authority, lightly worn, came not from technique or intellectual heft, but from “his love and his faith,” the New York Times critic Olin Downes wrote after a concert with the Philadelphia Orchestra in 1946. “Love, and not merely interpretive comprehension of what he is playing. Abiding faith in the music he represents.”More than that, Walter seemed after World War II to restore the luster of a vanished, even discredited tradition. He spoke like a German Romantic, and he conducted like one, too, tracing his influences back through the Vienna of Gustav Mahler and on to Richard Wagner, whose writings read during secret trips to a Berlin library as a boy.Walter, left, with his fellow conducting luminaries Arturo Toscanini, Erich Kleiber, Otto Klemperer and Wilhelm Furtwängler.Ullstein Bild, via Getty ImagesWilhelm Furtwängler forced that shared heritage through his intense and idiosyncratic style, and his association with Nazism. Walter, though, had the moral stature of an exile from the Third Reich, and he presented his inheritance unsullied, with an irresistible eloquence that made the classics sound “as natural as breathing,” the Virgil Thomson wrote in 1954.Part of the fascination of listening to Walter’s conducting now — coupling an exceptionally worthwhile 77-disc Sony box set, capturing his American career after he took refuge in California in 1939, with older and live material available on labels including Pristine — lies in hearing him reinvent the traditions he was seen to embody.Brahms: Symphony No. 1 in C minor, finaleVienna Philharmonic Orchestra, 1937 (Pristine)The same movement with the New York Philharmonic Orchestra in 1953(Sony)And with the Columbia Symphony Orchestra in 1959Sony)There is the antique charm of Walter’s prewar activity, above all in Vienna; the remarkable and somewhat surprising solidity and strength that marked his interpretations during his collaboration with the New York Philharmonic; the radiance of his late, stereo recordings, serene but spry. Yet throughout there is a constant, distinctive search for a simple, singing sense of expression, for a pliancy of line, for a sophistication and sensitivity that lay in more than technical precision.“There is a German verb, musizieren, which means to make music,” Thomson wrote in a review of one of Walter’s Philharmonic concerts in 1941, suggesting that the word applied more to him than to those, like Artur Rodzinski and Dimitri Mitropoulos, who had also conducted that orchestra. “Walter musiziert,” Thomson went on. “And that is a pleasure for those who like music with their concerts.”WALTER WAS NOT ALWAYS the dignified protector of Germanic music that he fashioned himself as after World War II, as his excellent biographers Erik Ryding and Rebecca Pechefsky have shown.Born Bruno Schlesinger to a middle-class Jewish family in Berlin in 1876 — he changed his name to take an early job in Breslau (modern-day Wroclaw, Poland) and later converted to Christianity — he had youthful success as a pianist, deciding to become a conductor only after seeing Hans von Bülow in the flesh.Much of his career was spent in the opera pit, from his debut in Cologne, Germany, in 1894 through his tenure from 1913 to 1922 as general music director of Munich, where Nazis demanded his ouster, and his expulsion in 1938 from the Vienna State Opera, where he had assisted Mahler at the start of the century and learned that he could never be the tyrant that his mentor had become.Conducting Mahler’s scores with angstless classicism, Walter took them as his own, likely at the expense of creative energies that had once had Viennese critics writing about his own compositions in the same breath as those of Schoenberg and Zemlinsky. If his focus in the opera house was on Mozart, Wagner and Strauss, he nevertheless did his part for contemporaries, including Schreker, Korngold, Pfitzner and Smyth. His essentially conservative tastes — atonality for him was close to immorality — had freer rein over time; the Sony box contains just one work, Barber’s First Symphony, that was written after Mahler’s death in 1911.If anything, Walter’s fate at the hands of Nazism encouraged him still more strongly to shine the light of the canon against “the dark powers of hell,” as he called them. He had become the music director of the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra in 1929, but was forced to leave because of threats against his concerts early in 1933. He went to Austria, where he was greeted as a hero.Wagner: ‘Die Walküre’Lotte Lehmann, soprano; Lauritz Melchior, tenor; Vienna Philharmonic, 1935 (Pristine)The recordings he made with the Vienna Philharmonic then, with their portamento and their way of easing lyrically into the beat, have a tragic quality, and some of them — a mournful Brahms First; the turbulent Mahler Ninth captured live weeks before the Anschluss in 1938 — seem understandably burdened with the outside world. But rarely has there been such repose as in the slow movement of his “Jupiter” Symphony, such drama as in his excerpts from “Die Walküre,” such delight as in his Beethoven Sixth.VIENNA FELL, and, after a year or so in Paris, Walter settled in Los Angeles. The prospect of working in the United States had been attractive since at least World War I, and he had made his New York debut in 1923, when The Times admired “a sensitive musician, forceful without violence.” Over time, he became deeply respected, seen as the grand old man of the Germanic canon, though he was never a box office draw.Having declined the leadership of the New York Philharmonic in 1942, he agreed to it for two seasons in 1947, serving humbly as the musical adviser rather than music director of the orchestra Mahler had once headed. Although he played his part in postwar reconciliation in Europe after 1946 — taping “Das Lied von der Erde,” definitively, with Kathleen Ferrier in Vienna in 1952 — his musical home would remain New York, and his family home, Hollywood.There is an absorbing collision of traditions in the recordings that Walter made after 1941 with the Philharmonic, an ensemble whose manner could be as mighty as his was mild; it is a testament to his powers that the compound was alchemical rather than destructive.Reared on the perfectionism of Arturo Toscanini, New York critics habitually accused Walter of a carelessness with details that was fundamental to his style.“This idea of precision in orchestral playing is very recent,” Walter told an interviewer in 1960. “It was a necessary reaction to a certain lackadaisical way of attacking tasks, and Toscanini in forwarding it did a wonderful service. But now precision has become an ideal, which is wrong.”Mahler: Symphony No. 1 in DNew York Philharmonic, 1954 (Sony)The hours of politely insistent rehearsal tapes in Sony’s box go some way to refuting the charge, and if some of the recordings do the opposite, many nevertheless reveal the happy confluence of Walter’s elegance and the Philharmonic’s thrust, albeit in a repertoire narrower than he presented in concert. His most dramatic liberties were reined in; tempo fluctuations became slighter. The warmth remained, as a wartime Beethoven “Eroica” and Fifth demonstrate, but there could also be a firmness in attack, even in Haydn and Mozart; a sensational Brahms cycle from the early 1950s studio is shockingly fiery, and still more so in live accounts from the same time that are preserved on Pristine.Fiery is not a word one could use to describe Walter’s last recordings, made after a heart attack in March 1957 all but ended his concert career. He had worked with the Columbia Symphony Orchestra in New York, a freelance group that was cheaper for his record company, Columbia, to hire than the full Philharmonic; the ensemble’s Californian namesake was formed specifically for him to reprise the standard repertoire in stereo, despite his fears (for a while proven correct) that to do so “condemned our whole former work to obsolescence,” as he wrote to his producer.The results, which perhaps betray the inexperience of the ensemble too often, represent less a reversion to Walter’s prewar type than a rarefied era of their own; they exude luminosity. He remade his Beethoven and Brahms in majestic fashion, dwelled admiringly on Bruckner, and added to his earlier Mahler, not least with a touching Ninth and a vast First that astounded Leonard Bernstein. His final session, in March 1961, preserved Mozart overtures that bubble with vitality; that of “Der Schauspieldirektor” positively bursts with the joy of a man of the theater, rejoicing, once again, in finding truth through beauty.Mozart: ‘Der Schauspieldirektor’Columbia Symphony Orchestra, 1961 (Sony)“What I want from music is happiness,” Walter had said in an interview with The Times in 1956 that celebrated his 80th birthday and his 63rd year on the podium. “People want happiness — why should we give them unhappiness? When the pursuit of happiness finds its satisfaction in music it is the highest possible satisfaction in man.” More