
13,00€
In stock
David Toub is a unique voice in American minimalism, a genre that has produced quite a few composers over the past 80 years. Our first contact dates back about fifteen years, and from the very beginning, David struck me as a committed composer, dedicated to building a coherent body of work. But he is also an engaged individual, deeply concerned with the challenges of our time and genuinely generous. In other words, a mensch—a rare kind of person. His music, in some ways, reflects today’s anxieties and uncertainties: repetitive, obsessive, often dark, and questioning.
This is the second album of his music that I have recorded, and this time, David has incorporated the human voice to feature a speech given by Che Guevara in 1964. The speech addresses the contradiction between a state’s founding principles and its actions. How can a nation advocate for freedom year-round while deliberately acting against minorities, particularly those historically oppressed? The piece does not provide an answer—this question remains just as relevant today, 60 years later.
(Stephane Ginsburg)
David Toub (b. 1961, Newark, NJ) is largely self-taught, with the only formal composition education consisting of attending music school (Mannes College of Music; Juilliard Pre-College Division) during weekends while in high school.
He remains an active composer. While Toub composed serial and dodecaphonic music until 1982, his subsequent works have been described as “minimalist,” although the durations of a subset of his compositions are not at all minimal (1.5 to over 4 hours in some cases).
Voix singulière du minimalisme américain, David Toub développe une musique répétitive, obsessionnelle et souvent sombre, traversée par les inquiétudes de notre époque.
Pour ce second album enregistré par Stéphane Ginsburgh, la voix humaine rejoint la matière musicale à travers un discours de Che Guevara datant de 1964. Entre répétition, tension et mémoire politique, Toub interroge les contradictions entre idéaux de liberté et réalité du pouvoir — une question laissée ouverte, dont l’écho demeure intact soixante ans plus tard.
17,50€
13,50€
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