22.0 Elliot Carter: The Day the Music Died?

-I weep for Adonais- he is dead!”

P. B. Shelley

Elliot Carter is a name few people outside the classical music world would recognize. The loss is theirs. He was a true Titan of modern composition with few peers in this country or any other. Possessed with the rare gift of an innate understanding of rhythm, his compositional output stands at an elevated level few of us can conceive, let alone approach. I suppose I could spend the time and energy explaining the utter originality of the man’s compositional ideas (metric modulation comes to mind), but perhaps a summation is preferable: there was something in his works for everyone. Moments of tender beauty contrasted with ear-splitting dissonances, forceful polyrhythms devolved into ethereal disjointedness, but one characteristic was always present: a sense of perfect elegance.

Carter’s work was not easy on the performer, nor was it consistently accessible to the untutored ear. Nevertheless, the performances were not soon forgotten. Even as a student, I recall being fascinated by the theoretical brilliance of Canaries (from Eight Pieces for Four Timpani), not to mention being held in aural thrall by the recording (who would have thought it was possible to write something so interesting for one person playing on four drums?). It is not without significance that during the upheaval of the trend towards total serialization, the European Avant-garde (who typically sneered at their American counterparts) held him in the highest esteem. His contributions to musical set-theory alone would place him at the pinnacle of musical theorists.

A life-long educator, a complete list of his students would border on an exercise in over-indulgence, as perhaps a complete listing of his works might as well: he continued (and even accelerated a bit) to produce magical works right up to the day of his death.

That day, unfortunately, was today.

All too often, we venerate composers only after their corporeal existence has faded. It is as if we are “waiting to see” if the music outlives the composer. As wrong-headed as that approach may be, I believe that anyone who retains a passion for concert music will agree with me:

Elliot Carter will never truly die; it may just take the world a bit more time to recognize the towering genius that once walked on this terrestrial plane.

R.I.P.