Anyway there was the Staatliche Hochschule für Musik ( – don´t forget ” und Darstellende Kunst”, would you ? – I would. )
Erhard Karkoschka died recently. Then there was Helmut Lachenmann – what a wonderful name ! – , he was quite a different story.
And a different language, dialect, accent, musical accent, musical ascent towards “Negative Musik”, whatever that may mean to the eager music-journalists and musicological writers of ” foot-notes to Jomelli ” ( I owe this not quite flattering description of German musicology up to and including, of course, Hans Heinrich Eggebrecht …. , to my venerable Berlin teacher, Boris Blacher, himself no Swabian ! ) . Of all my synaesthetic impressions gathered in an eventful year too near to and yet too far from Tübingen´s noble Hölderlin ( – and yes, they did Frank Corcoran´s “MEDIEVAL IRISH EPIGRAMMES” for Choir at the Musikhochschule Stuttgart , also the PIANO TRIO and other works of that kidney ; yes, I did make several not unimportant Frank Corcoran Radiophonic Analyses for the Süddeutscher Rundfunk, including one of György Ligeti´s Choral Music, also os a Peter Ruzizka immortal work , and also – for the Hessischer Rundfunk – a splendidly big analysis, I remember, of Stravinsky´s “RITE OF SPRING” ) is this little vignette from my South Swabian village where I wintered in: I happened to be invited to a Schützenfest – all-male of course – at the local Sporthalle ( our wine-producers´ hamlet possessed neither pub nor café ) where , as the night wore on, the heroes´cup was passed around with increasing musical tempo. Polyphony and emotions rose higher . I spotted two of our drinking heroes in the act of slipping away to find a telephone. ” Got your driving-licence ready ? Or are you here on foot, I wonder? ” whispered my Bacchus to me. ” I´m on foot tonight, actually …. Why?” ” Oh, there´s never a denouncer far from such a Bibulosity Fest ours. You saw our two Judases sneaking out to inform by phone to the Stuttgart Gárdaí just now ? Just wait for the fun now !” And sure enough there was the cordon of spinning blue-lights from at least six police-cars blocking the road and a corresponding wild scramble on the part of my imbibers of fine Württemberg wine, quite hopelessly attempting to pass over their car-keys to Württemberg spouses . I will never forget this example of commendable Swabian village fellowship. Never.
On the theme of H.H. Eggebrecht, more anon.