Although indie and alternative music might aspire toward a certain avant-garde edginess, much of it is, from a music theory standpoint, fairly simplistic. Perhaps its the three-to-four chord punk and folk influences at play. Perhaps its the scene's initial emphasis on DIY ethics and a certain scorn toward polished, overly academic approaches to songwriting. Or perhaps rock n' roll in general will never quite compete on a technical level with Beethoven's symphonies. Regardless, and minus a few post-rock/baroque pop exceptions, music from indie and alternative bands often seems quite distanced from the classical tradition. 

Radiohead guitarist Jonny Greenwood and Bryce Dessner of The National, however, testify to other possibilities for artists typically associated with alt-rock. On a split compilation released through Deutsche Grammophon and Universal Classics, the two present original compositions of elegant, at times harrowing, classical music.

Dessner's three lengthy tracks on the album do make some use of electric guitar. This occasionally reminds listeners of his contributions to The National, particularly around the halfway point of "Raphael." In general though, Dessner has eschewed the electronic influences that accompany many instrumental works performed by contemporary artists associated with rock bands. His gorgeous, ornate, orchestral creations sound timeless and sincere.

Greenwood proves the grimmer of the pair, offering nine shorter pieces from his score to Paul Thomas Anderson's 2007 masterpiece There Will Be Blood. His music is sharper and more malicious than Dessner's, bringing a menacing undercurrent to the fluttering arrangements. "Henry Plainview," with its beehive of strings is particularly unnerving, if not muted on record compared the film's use of the theme. 

Throughout the compilation, both Greenwood and Dessner emerge as accomplished composers. They demonstrate that though experimentation in the arts can be illuminating, at times older notions of beauty resonate even as aesthetic trends, fashions, and priorities change. 

Grade: A-

In a way, Aheym speaks of the journey from a former place of sanctuary to new place forced into being called home. As much as this riveting work details movement, I see it as a piece exploring resistance. Bryce Dessner, member of indie band The National, collaborated with celebrated string-masters The Kronos Quartet (Sunn Yang, cello; David Harrington and John Sherba, violin; and Hank Dutt, viola) to arrange a classical string-quartet composition. After chatting with the creative director of the group, David Harrington, they decided to draw inspiration from Dessner's grandmother's emigration from Poland to Russia, a thing of synchronicity, as the band recently toured in Lodz, Poland. This is the main thread of narrative running through Aheym, which means 'homeward.' The tension of these pieces weave fury and agitation into a courageous melody.

The first composition, "Aheym," breaks out in a dense, vivacious rustle of the viola. It is an anxious rustle, and each movement effaces the former few seconds. I feel as if I am erasing part of my memory, or have lost a family watch, and see it paused on a time that no longer exists. Toward the latter part of the song, the fast sixteenths of the violin overtone the deep and sonorous viola and cello. They build into a furious and chaotic crescendo that breaks into silence. On "Little Blue Something," 'something' is the key word here as this track expresses the inability to say what is felt, a suffocating lack of communication. The way the cello squeezes out sound is reminiscent of wheezing. Dramatics are on high, this piece is loud and stays that way throughout, breaking at the fermata and pouncing on crawling sforzando's. 

In third position on the album, the track "Tenebre" highlights the nugget of meaning within Aheym's concept. Tenebre, meaning "dark" begins with violin humming and cello lamenting. The technical tremolo of the instruments and sudden breaking away of grace notes that twirl in are a great play between the dark and light aspect running throughout this track. About five minutes in, the minor sound gives into a more major, joyous tone. Sometimes, in our gayest moods, we are encapsulating a deep darkness. One can call it the eye of the storm, a calm center in the midst of chaos. In the last few minutes that hint at the theme of the closing track, angelic vocals whisper in wavelengths. 

To close this technically stunning work is "Tour Eiffel," a track that transform's the Chilean poet Vicente Huidobro's poem into a choral arrangement, sung by the Brooklyn Youth Chorus. In start, their voices swirl and wind into a harmonic and effective tone that flows perfectly into the guitar and piano accompaniment about four minutes in. If one takes a look at the poem itself, it isn't in traditional lyric form.  The poem contains many breaks and line spaces, which is suitable for the composer to transform the way it sounds with song as opposed to the spoken word. Mixing English with French, and calling the Eiffel Tower "the sky's guitar," the poem is poignant and a perfect match for this choral freedom. Well done, well done.

Grade: A-