Kronos Quartet deals with John Zorn

In the first few measures of John Zorn’s Cat O’ Nine Tails, The Kronos Quartet isn’t setting a theme, or establishing the tonic, or even setting the tempo. They sound like they’re pulling up a floorboard. It’s Pandora’s floorboard, no less, and the following minutes emerge rife with dissonance and rapid bowing, not to mention plucking, slapping, and (is it? yep) barking. "I've got an incredibly short attention span,” the composer explains. “My music is jam-packed with information that is changing very fast.” The Kronos quartet has done a fine job processing that kind of mentality. The strings don’t merely bow; they hum, flutter, screech and even take a moment to tease a confused ear with a bluegrass rhythm that ends as abruptly as it begins. The Quartet, right at home on Zorn’s wavelength, continues throughout the piece to hop, waver, plunge into non-sequitur cadences, whisper, cry out, and of course, mew. (I’m still referring to your standard violin.) There are moments of tonal balance, but those sweep by quickly, as if deemed suddenly passé. With all this internal madness, it might not be a floorboard being pulled up after all, but the top of John Zorn’s head. The strings often fire like brain response synapses, with a lot of colorful chromatic and dynamic dipping and diving, before finally winding down quietly and suddenly, playing a series of chords somewhat sadly (as one instrument piteously mews). It left me with the spinning impression that the piece (and Zorn’s glistening brain) is alive and attractively complex, though it sounds like he could make use of a butterfly net in there, or maybe even a fly swatter.