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    How Do You Write Down a Scratching, Crunching Violin ‘Chop’?

    The chop turns string players into beatboxers. After it developed organically over decades, musicians are making new efforts to notate it.Change is hard. All the more so for an old, set-in-its-ways instrument like the violin.But it happens. And in the hands of the five-string fiddler Casey Driessen and the jazz violinist Oriol Saña, change sounds like an unexpected crunch. A scratch. A drag of the bow on the string that ramps up to build an intricate undercurrent of rhythm.How to describe it? “Like a DJ who scratches records,” Driessen offered in an interview. “A little chunky,” Saña said.This small revolution is known as “the chop,” a percussive technique that opens up a new world of rhythm and groove for the bowed string player. The chop turns a violinist into a beatboxer. To play it is to break basic conventions of what most listeners expect from a typically sweet, melodic instrument.For over half a century, musicians around the world have brought the chop to different genres, including bluegrass and jazz, Celtic and funk, far-flung regional traditions and beyond. Composers like Kenji Bunch, Jessica Meyer, Daniel Bernard Roumain and Mimi Rabson have featured it in new works. With all this activity, it has evolved into its own percussive language. This naturally raises the question: how does it get written down?It’s been a long path to trying to notate and codify the chop. “It’s not that often that somebody creates a whole new instrumental technique for the violin and that it actually becomes widespread,” said Laura Risk, a fiddler and assistant professor of music and culture at the University of Toronto Scarborough, who has documented the chop’s diffusion across North Atlantic string communities. “With the chop, it’s so recent and it’s so unusual that we can trace it.”In 1966, the bluegrass fiddler Richard Greene invented the basic chop and put it to work as a showpiece while soloing. It passed to the violinist Darol Anger, who developed it as a tool for backup in the Turtle Island Quartet, a genre-bending jazz group. The chop offered a way to mimic a full rhythm section using only string players.In 1973, Bill Keith, Clarence White, Richard Greene and David Grisman in the bluegrass band Muleskinner.via Richard GreeneIt’s in this form that the technique took off — “dangerously,” Anger has said. “I feel like Oppenheimer sometimes. I’ve released some kind of monster.”He recalls a watershed moment at a music camp in the 1990s, when he offered “Darol’s Chop Shop” to a group of virtuosic young fiddlers eager to discover new sounds. Among them were Driessen and Saña, who have since made chopping central to their musical lives. Driessen has extended the chop’s vocabulary through new moves, even introducing the “triple chop,” which makes a tsk-tsk-tsk triplet, as if calling to a stubborn cat; Saña has brought it to string communities in Europe; and both have passed it on through performance, workshops and online instructional videos.The chop’s spread has been raucous, organic, primarily learned player-to-player; at first glance, inventing a written form for it might seem strange or sacrilegious. Notation is a deliberate act of definition. It’s a bet on standardization in exchange for dissemination. Written down, a musical idea can be captured, preserved, studied and recreated.Written down, a musical idea can be captured, preserved, studied and recreated.Casey DriessenAnger and the Turtle Island Quartet used a simple “x” or a slash in place of the standard notehead to mark different flavors of chop. When the group started publishing their own arrangements, those symbolic choices became quasi-codified, establishing a baseline notation. Two years ago, Saña and Driessen started The Chop Notation Project, an effort to recognize the technique on the page and create a shared language. The project is a multimedia mixture of musical glossary, historical record and pedagogical tool.Of course, there is a tension in writing something down. Is a notation a description of a particular musical personality? A set of instructions for someone to follow? “With a score, there is usually leeway for interpretation,” Risk said. “That’s where your own sense of musicality, the style and genre, that’s where all of that comes in.”For Anger, writing at an earlier point in the chop’s development, the simplicity of the symbols was crucial. In its arrangements, the Turtle Island Quartet opted to use the minimal amount of information possible to make space for the somatic experience of the music: listening and feeling. They worried too much detail would muddle the groove, leaving players “dreading their way through a thicket of squiggles,” said Anger.Two years ago, Oriol Saña and Casey Driessen started The Chop Notation Project, an effort to recognize the technique on the page and create a shared language.Laura RuizDriessen and Saña debated how to express for players both the location and movement of the bow with precision, while still having the symbols be legible. For composers, software loomed large, with the two men choosing to favor readily available symbols in popular typesetting programs like Sibelius. Elements of taste also shaped how to visually represent a sound, often leaving them comparing which symbols felt “stronger,” “more intuitive” or “crunchier.”Given that the chop was already in widespread use, Driessen and Saña involved the musical community, too, including Greene, Anger and string faculty members at the Berklee College of Music in Boston. One important line of edits came from cellists like Natalie Haas and Mike Block, who pointed out aspects of the notation that they thought were too violin-centric. Driessen and Saña felt things had truly clicked when a colleague told them “it looks like it sounds, which is exactly the way notation should be.”The duo’s notation features a language of compound symbols. Different noteheads mark the quality of the percussive sound, including slashes of varying size for hard and soft chops, and an “x” for the subtle melodic hint of ghost notes. Signifiers for where to chop on the instrument (relative to the player’s body, at the midpoint or beyond the instrument’s bridge) combine with directions for how to move the bow vertically.Other modern chopping moves received their own written forms, taking cues from their corresponding sound and motion. For example, parallel scrapes (which often make a pitchless drag noise) use a headless stroke with a modified arrow indicating their duration and direction of attack. Circular bow scrapes (which sound like a chunky record scratch) resemble an altered “c” to show whether the rotation should be clockwise or counterclockwise.Will writing further spread the chop? The Chop Notation Project has already ended up in the textbook Berklee Contemporary Music Notation, and has been shared with students at gatherings like the Barcelona Fiddle Congress and online. Other chop notation systems continue to circulate, too, which make different choices about the exact information captured in writing and left up to the player.The chop is primarily a “living and evolving aural language,” said Driessen, but both he and Saña believe a standard notation will help find new exponents for its still-transgressive joys.“I teach chops with students who are four years old,” Saña said. “The first time when you teach it, they say, ‘I can do that with my fiddle?’” More

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    Rare Violin Tests Germany’s Commitment to Atone for Its Nazi Past

    AdvertisementContinue reading the main storySupported byContinue reading the main storyRare Violin Tests Germany’s Commitment to Atone for Its Nazi PastThe instrument’s holders refuse to compensate the heirs of a Jewish music dealer, jeopardizing a system for restitution that has been in place for nearly two decades.The 1706 violin from the workshop of Giuseppe Guarneri at the center of the restitution dispute in Germany.Credit…Elke Richter/picture allianceJan. 25, 2021BERLIN — No one knows why Felix Hildesheimer, a Jewish dealer in music supplies, purchased a precious violin built by the Cremonese master Giuseppe Guarneri at a shop in Stuttgart, Germany, in January 1938. His own store had lost its non-Jewish customers because of Nazi boycotts, and his two daughters fled the country shortly afterward. His grandsons say it’s possible that Hildesheimer was hoping he could sell the violin in Australia, where he and his wife, Helene, planned to build a new life with their younger daughter.But the couple’s efforts to get an Australian visa failed and Hildesheimer killed himself in August 1939. More than 80 years later, his 300-year-old violin — valued at around $185,000 — is at the center of a dispute that is threatening to undermine Germany’s commitment to return objects looted by the Nazis.The government’s Advisory Commission on the return of Nazi-looted cultural property determined in 2016 that the violin was almost certainly either sold by Hildesheimer under duress, or seized by the Nazis after his death. In its first case concerning a musical instrument, the panel recommended that the current holder, the Franz Hofmann and Sophie Hagemann Foundation, a music education organization, should pay the dealer’s grandsons compensation of 100,000 euros, around $121,000; in return, the foundation could keep the instrument, which it planned to lend to talented violin students.An undated photo showing Felix Hildesheimer’s music store in Speyer, Germany. The store occupied the first floor of the building, and the Hildesheimers lived on the floors above.Credit…via David SandBut the foundation is refusing to pay. After first saying it couldn’t raise the funds, it is now casting doubt on the committee’s ruling. In a Jan. 20 statement, the foundation said “current information” suggested that Hildesheimer was not forced to give up his business until 1939, instead of 1937, as previously thought. So, the statement added, “we should assume that the violin was sold as a retail product in his music shop.”Last week, the Advisory Commission lost patience and issued a public statement aimed at raising pressure on the Hagemann Foundation to comply with its recommendation.“Both sides accepted this as a fair and just solution,” the statement said, accusing the foundation of not showing a “serious commitment to comply with the commission’s recommendation.” The efforts to contest the recommendation — four years after it was issued — by suggesting that the Jewish dealer sold the violin under perfectly normal conditions mean “the foundation is not just contravening existing principles on the restitution of Nazi-looted art,” the panel said, “it is also ignoring accepted facts about life in Nazi Germany.”The foundation’s refusal to pay is jeopardizing a system for handling Nazi-looted art claims that has been in place for nearly two decades and has led to the restitution of works from public museums and, in 2019, two paintings from the German government’s own art collection.Lawmakers set up the panel in 2003, after endorsing the Washington Principles, a 1998 international agreement calling for “just and fair” solutions for prewar owners and their heirs whose art had been confiscated by the Nazis. The families of Jews whose belongings were expropriated rarely succeed in recovering looted cultural property in German courts, because of statutes of limitation and rules that protect good-faith buyers of stolen goods. So the Advisory Commission, which arbitrates between the victims of spoliation and the holders of disputed cultural property, is often claimants’ only recourse.But the commission is not a court and has no legal powers to enforce its recommendations, explained Hans-Jürgen Papier, the panel’s chairman and a former president of Germany’s Constitutional Court, in an interview.“Instead it has the function of a mediator,” he said. “So far we have been able to count on public institutions to submit to the commission’s processes and implement its recommendations,” he added. “If that doesn’t work anymore, it’s unacceptable from our perspective.”After Hildesheimer’s purchase, the Guarneri violin’s tracks disappear until 1974, when it resurfaced at a shop in the city of Cologne, western Germany, and was purchased by the violinist Sophie Hagemann. She died in 2010, bequeathing it to the foundation she had set up to promote the work of her composer husband and support young musicians.The Hagemann Foundation, which has since restored the violin, began to investigate its prior ownership after her death. On noting the provenance gap from 1938 to 1974, it registered the instrument on a German government database of Nazi-looted cultural property, in the hope of finding more information about the Hildesheimer family. An American journalist tracked down the music dealer’s grandsons, and the foundation agreed to submit the case to the Advisory Commission.An undated photograph from the mid-1930s showing Felix Hildesheimer, right, playing piano accompaniment for his younger daughter, Elsbeth. Credit…via David SandWhen the commission ruled, in 2016, that the violin was likely to have been sold under duress, or seized after Hildesheimer’s death, the Hagemann Foundation accepted its terms and also promised that the students to whom it lent the violin would give regular concerts in Hildesheimer’s memory.But the Advisory Commission’s statement last week said it detected no “serious will” on the part of the foundation to raise the €100,000 compensation. The foundation’s continued description of the Guarneri violin as “an instrument of understanding” on its website is “particularly inappropriate,” the panel said, given its refusal to pay the heirs.The foundation’s president, Fabian Kern, declined an interview request, but issued a statement saying that the foundation had “undertaken countless efforts over several years to implement the commission’s recommendation.”David Sand, Hildesheimer’s California-based grandson, said in a telephone interview that the family had been “very accommodating, and even offered the foundation assistance with fund-raising in emails back and forth over the last four years.”“If the commission can be defied with no consequences, I don’t see how these cases can be dealt with in future,” he added.David Sand, a grandson of Felix Hildesheimer, in Los Angeles on Jan. 22. “If the commission can be defied with no consequences, I don’t see how these cases can be dealt with in future,” he said.Credit…Elizabeth Weinberg for The New York TimesPapier, the committee chairman, said he hoped the panel’s decision to tell the media about the foundation’s noncompliance would raise awareness among lawmakers and the public of the issues at stake. While the Hagemann Foundation is a private entity, it has close connections with the Nuremberg University of Music, which is owned by the German state of Bavaria, he said.He said he has already sought support from the Bavarian government, “but in the end nothing happened. Perhaps some political pressure will arise to ensure that this settlement, which was viewed by all involved as fair and just, is finally implemented.”But a spokeswoman for Bavaria’s Culture Ministry said it was “up to the private foundation to address the recommendations of the Advisory Commission. The state of Bavaria has no legal basis to influence private owners.”A spokesman for Germany’s federal Culture Ministry echoed these sentiments. The ministry has “no tools available to compel a private foundation to implement a recommendation by the commission,” he said.All this leaves the commission “standing high and dry,” said Stephan Klingen, an art historian at the Central Institute for Art History in Munich.“The commission’s only options are to hope that politicians somehow get them out of this mess, or to resign en masse,” Klingen said. “This puts the commission’s future on a knife edge. If there is no political support, then German restitution policy has reached the end of the line.”“If heirs can’t have faith in the implementation of the commission’s recommendations,” he added, “then why would they take their cases to it?”AdvertisementContinue reading the main story More