John Dante Prevedini

Colin Clarke, Fanfare Magazine

The full title of John Dante Prevedini’s On Liberty is On Liberty: An Augenmusik Piano Suite. The composer goes into much detail about how he works with so-called Augenmusik (eye music), and also how much improvisation is required from the performer (it does vary from movement to movement). Basically, an image of the Statue of Liberty was mapped over nine systems of single-staff manuscript paper. Each line, or movement, therefore has its own harmonic material with which the performer can work. Scales that repeat at fifths and a score devoid of accidentals are achieved via non-standard key signatures, a technique also used by Bartók. Each of the movement titles examines an aspect of the concept of liberty.

The realization of the score, which one can see in toto on the album cover, will necessarily be different from person to person, and the composer encourages this. His reading seems inspired in that each movement has an overall shape, and individual moods are brilliantly conveyed. The openly optimistic first movement, “Promise,” indeed conveys a feeling of hope that the freedom of the United States offers. “Refuge” seems to seek a softening from the slightly granitic chords of the opening via tonal constructs. The harmonies themselves have a powerful emotional effect, especially in the more relentless sections. The third movement, “Rights,” is intriguing and significantly more fluid in nature. The harmonies throughout are fascinating, almost as if something instantly recognizable has been suddenly reframed. Interestingly, “Rights” is fairly fluid too, as if opening out the discussion on what are the fundamentals of this concept. The power of the single line seems to speak particularly powerfully in this movement, representing an individual, perhaps.

In its slight rhythmic swing, “Conditions” seems initially to link back to the work’s opening; it holds huge contrasts, though, as well as what sounds like an invocation of a moving machine. The final gesture is brisk, bluff, and positively dismissive. “Truths,” which follows, seems calmative in intent, although it speaks with an inner confidence that rises steadily, eventually finding a quiet, single-note close.

The word “cost” has a variety of meanings, of course: monetary cost, but also emotional, psychological, and even spiritual costs. The music of the sixth movement, “Costs,” seems more lost here: its directionality is fragile, with its accents seemingly trying to find terra firma but often failing. Only when we reach the lower registers of the piano does anything vaguely like a firm foothold take place, but the close is markedly enigmatic.

The seventh movement, “Justice,” is brief and muscular, also more dissonant and thornier, as if wrestling with truths. Another final, dismissive gesture takes us to the penultimate section, “Opportunity,” at nearly nine minutes the longest movement. Here, there is space to breathe, space to reflect, and we hear that in the music’s meanderings. Finally, a buoyant “Responsibility,” with the treble of the piano almost like flutes a-piping and vital rhythms everywhere, brings this fascinating piece to a close.

Of course, this is but one realization. But it does come from the composer himself, which gives it a particular authority. The piano is recorded closely, which in this case seems to add an extra layer of involvement, almost as if Prevedini is speaking directly to the listener. The idea of observing an idea from multiple angles, like looking at a statue from different viewpoints, offers illumination. Arguably, the ideas behind this piece offer just as much stimulation as the actual realization.