HCMF : AMM

Sunday 29th November - St Paul's Hall

John Tilbury – Piano

Eddie Prévost – Drums

Keith Rowe - Guitar

After the workshop with Eddie Prévost the day before, I was really looking forward to this performance, but I have to say I actually found it rather disappointing. The sounds made were fairly quiet and minimal, which in itself wasn’t the problem, it was more they way in which the sounds worked together, or didn’t work together in this case.

For some reason I didn’t really feel the performers were really listening to each other, maybe it was their lack of interaction in terms of body language although for performers who are used to playing together, which I’m sure they are, this isn’t always a problem. For me the techniques used seem to be for show rather than to contribute the music. John Tilbury, an outstanding experimental pianist by all accounts, spent the entire performance moving his arms slowly up and down the piano. This was interesting at first, as the moment seemed to pick out certain notes at random, but the sound did not change or develop in any way. Perhaps this was the effect he was aiming for, but for me it didn’t really add to the field of sound, it just worked more in isolation in the background.

Eddie used techniques very similar to the ones I had seen in the workshop, such as using a double bass bow on a cymbal, placing cymbals on a drum, using the bow on the cymbal on the drum… Generally I didn’t find this very exciting or new; once you have heard someone bow a cymbal you’ve heard someone bow a cymbal, the sound doesn’t really change or develop. So, although I found the interaction between Prévost and Rowe slightly more interesting, it still seemed very much to me that he was working in isolation. Although, there was a very lovely moment where he rolled a ball round the edge of a bass drum and it hit a tiny cymbal with a rather satisfying ‘ping!’.

Keith Rowe had his guitar laid flat on a table top and used several implements on the pickups – this was the most interesting part of the performance for me, but because I felt as if the other performers weren’t really reacting to the sounds, again it seemed very much in isolation for me. However, as a variance of sound I thought it was very successful; I particularly liked that he used a radio on the pickups which added a strange sense of nostalgia to the performance.

Overall I actually found the performance quite stale and uninteresting, other than the brief moments mentioned above. It was doubly disappointing in that I know the three are such incredible musicians and it could potentially have been awe inspiring. I have decided today to search for a performance which I find more inspiring, as if to prove to myself that I wasn’t just in an irritable mood yesterday evening! And to my joy, I have found one. The below video is a recording of John Tilbury, Eddie Prévost and Evan Parker; the quiet use of slowly moving harmony and the wonderful way in which the bow on a cymbal interacts with it is both relaxing and fascinating to listen to.

HCMF : Workshop with Eddie Prévost

Friday 27th November - Bates Mill Blending Shed

Having experienced yesterday’s workshop performance I wasn’t sure what to expect of this one; the thought of working with a legend of experimental music like Eddie Prévost made me very nervous, and the room was extremely cold which didn’t help with the aforementioned nerves! I had decided that being nervous was probably a good thing in this case; it meant I was likely to be more alert and sensitive in my listening.

Luckily Eddie was an extremely patient and relaxed mentor, and this helped me feel a bit more at ease and able to concentrate on the sounds (although I did need encouragement to join in with the first improvisation – this would be my own hesitation at work again!). His advice was simple; to not feel limited by our instruments or the way in which we are taught to use them, to see them as the components of which they are comprised. He encouraged us to try and search for sounds we had not heard before, to explore and not be afraid of making ‘mistakes’, as sometimes such mistakes can lead to great things.

Overall (other than my hesitant start) I enjoyed using this explorative approach. I explored some parts of my instrument I had never used before, such as blowing into the body of the instrument, and also attempting some of the sounds I had seen the string players use the day before, such as the strings behind the bridge and scroll and some harmonic techniques. What I found most difficult was concentrating on searching for ‘new’ sounds whilst also responding to other members of the group, as I have mentioned before in this post I sometimes struggle in improvisational situations by listening too intently for an opportunity and being too hesitant. Yet to not listen at all and to concentrate only on what I am doing defeats the object of collaboration, the unpredictability of working with others and the wonderful moments and sounds this can bring about.

Eddie’s advice was interesting in this case, he noted that we should not try too hard to make our contributions ‘good’, that putting too much pressure on ourselves can sometimes stifle creativity. I would certainly agree with him in this case, but as I have mentioned before, it is often this balance that is the most difficult to achieve! He also mentioned that in his experience female improvisers tend to be very sensitive listeners, but by the same token are often more inhibited in their freedom of exploration. This might go some way to explain why I am often very hesitant, and also why the string and piano trio at the workshop yesterday were, I felt, a more sympathetic group; all three were women! Whether or not this observation applies across the board I am hesitant to assume, but I’ll trust Eddie’s vast experience in this case.

I have to say that I did not feel I truly settled in to any of the performances today, but I do not feel like this was a bad thing. The workshop has given me plenty to think about, in particular my limitations with regards to the freedom and confidence to explore new sounds and techniques. I often find in my compositional work and improvisational contributions that I tend to rely on ‘safe’ and ‘easy’ methods in the moment, purely because they are less likely to go ‘wrong’. Although it is important to be sensitive to sounds and make sure that contributions are positive, I think it is often this pressure to do it ‘right’ is what makes me more unlikely to be unsuccessful.

HCMF : Eddie Prévost's Workshop

Thursday 26th November, Bates Mill Blending Shed

Jennifer Allum - Violin
Marjolaine Charbin - Piano
Ute Kanngiesser - Cello
Daniel Kordic Vostoc - Synthesiser / Electronics
Massimo Magee -  also / soprano saxophones (electro acoustic)
N O Moore - Guitarism
David O'Connor - Baritone Saxophone
James O'Sullivan - electric guitar
David W Stockard - Drum


This was an interesting experience for me, in that I didn’t find it particularly interesting overall. If Eddie Prévost’s and AMM’s mantra is ‘searching for sounds’ then I’m not entirely sure the majority of these workshop participants will have found the experience much more interesting either.

The workshop had 9 participants and a simple format; first the improvisation would make its way around the performers being passed from pair-to-pair, and then 3 small groups of 3 were formed and performed their own sections. This, I didn’t take issue with, in fact the awe-inspiring Ensemble Anomaly performance I talked about a while ago had a very similar format. My issue really was with the creativity, or lack thereof, of the performers and their reaction to each other.

There was a percussionist who seemed to like the sound a cymbal made when blown on the skin of his drum, which I have to admit was quite shocking when I first heard it, but after several times became quite abrasive. What’s more is that I did not personally feel that it added to the sounds the other performers were making, on the contrary, I found it a very selfish sound in that it detracted all attention from the other members of the group. I also find it difficult to believe that he has not made or practiced this sound before, which would be excusable if he hadn’t used it so many times during the performance, but given that even though the programme notes themselves dismissed the practice of preparing sounds I considered this to be inappropriate for the overall aims of the group.

The most disappointing thing about the contribution that this sound made to the performance was that because I was so distracted by it I was almost incapable of noting the contributions of other performers. There was an synthesised electronics artist named Daniel Kordic Vostoc whose sounds alone I found very varied and interesting to listen to. I’ve since had a look at his website to see that he has created works from field recordings which seem very interesting, I may do a blog about some of these and others I have come across later.*

I was automatically drawn to the violinist as I am one, and at first I found her contributions a little stale and uninteresting although her bow control was very impressive. I realise why now, as I have found a video of her making very similar sounds as seen below – even on the same section of fingerboard and with the same bowing technique!

However, the group improvisation between cello, violin and piano I found very beautiful. The performers managed a perfect blend of small delicate sounds; harmonics, circular bowing and use of the piano strings and small vocal sounds by the pianist. I felt the members if the group were sympathetic towards each other in a way that the other groups were not, which suggests that they were listening not only to themselves but also to the mix of sounds created as a whole. There was a fantastic moment where the performance suddenly hung on a wonderfully diatonic-sounding chord (I think it was A major) which, in the context of the performance was so unlike anything that had come before it, was so unexpected that it provoked a real emotional response. In this performance more than any of the others I felt the performers really worked very well together in the same way as the members Ensemble Anomaly as mentioned above, perhaps this was to do with the more traditional grouping of instruments, but I am not sure.

I suppose the issue at hand here is whether your objective of creating new and interesting sounds should come at the expense of working together as a group – a balance of the two would be ideal but upon reflection I think that maybe finding this balance is a difficulty in itself. I am looking forward to putting this question into practice in my workshop with Eddie Prévost himself tomorrow.

*Edit 14/01/16 - I have done this now! Click here.

HCMF : La Monte Young – The Melodic Version (1984) of The Second Dream of The High-Tension Line Stepdown Transformer from The Four Dreams of China

La Monte Young @ Huddersfield Contemporary Music Festival

It was about a 9:45 when I entered St Paul's Hall for the Theatre of Eternal Music Brass Ensemble's performance of this work and the smell of incense and 'Dream Light', contributed to the meditative atmosphere. I was really excited and almost nervous in my anticipation to see this performance as, other than a couple of his fluxus works which Philip Thomas performed in our Experimental Music lectures, I've never seen any of Young's musical works performed before and I'm quite a fan. I really didn't know what to expect.

Having read a couple of paragraphs of the 33-pages-long programme notes (yes, really!) I gathered that the work was based on pythagorean tuning, a more in-depth explanation of which can be found here. Basically, the principle uses ratios to determine pitch intervals in a form of just intonation, as opposed to the equal temperament more commonly used in western music, the idea being the the more 'natural' tuning assists in highlighting the partials that are apparent when these notes are played together in an acoustic space. This particular work uses the ratios of 18/17/16/12 to create a 'Dream' quadrad, as described by Young. The work is improvisatory in nature although there are certain rules and guidelines that must be adhered to, such as the order in which pitches should be introduced and the length of sounds.

This, however, does absolutely nothing to describe what the experience of listening to the piece is actually like. Knowing that what I was listening for were the resonant partials of the notes being played, I concentrated on exactly that, but as it turns out I probably needn't have. The first note appeared out of silence, in this case from one of the 8 muted trumpets arranged in a semi-circle in front of the crowd. This single note was joined by overlapping notes on the same exact tone (the tuning was immaculate), creating a constant drone continuing on this single note for about 15-20 minutes. The more I listened to this very simple, very quiet sound, the more the resonant partials revealed themselves - first the second harmonic (an octave above) and then the 4th (two octaves above). Before long the partials seemed to weave in and out of one another, almost like an arpeggiated motif, so much so that I was quite disappointed when the sound stopped! But after a silence of 5 minutes or so, it began again, slowly introducing the second tone of the quadrad, setting off another scheme of harmonic partials which were gradually revealed, my ears weaving them in and out of each other.

As the further two notes were revealed slowly in this same manner, I found I could almost create music out of the partials with my own ears, guiding them around the available frequencies. I could listen for the particular partials I wanted to hear, but I could also let my ears guide themselves around the symphony of tones available to them. I'm sure I heard tones I had never heard before as my listening climbed the harmonic series, the notes getting closer and closer until they were almost indistinguishable from each other. I had certainly never experienced anything like this before, or certainly not anything at this duration where I was at liberty to explore the experience for nearly an hour and a half. Yet despite the duration and 'stillness' of the event, it was not what I would call relaxing. I was most definitely occupied and 'awake' throughout - it could have continued for an hour and a half more and I would still have been occupied!

The experience has raised a few questions in my mind: I wonder, if I had not been listening or expecting to hear resonant partials would I have heard them, or would I have been very bored listening to four notes for an hour and a half? If the experience was purely something I heard, listened for and created for myself, would the person next to me have had a completely different experience? I had several PhD students sat next to me, some of whom compose using microtones and partials, I wonder if their experience was richer than my own; a bit of background research here tells me that it does take some practice to hear resonant partials at all. I wonder how different it would have sounded if the notes were different, or the spacing between the notes of the quadrad was different? What about if there more more notes added, would the number of partials be more or would the sound become too crowded? Would it have the same effect if the notes were tuned in equal temperament as opposed to just intonation?

In my post about Alivin Lucier I discuss the concept of the physics of sound, and the music my ears make becoming the music I experience. It strikes me that it would take a lot of experience in this area of listening and exploring the relationships between sounds and specific tones to create this music. Is it simply trial and error, or experimentation? I wonder if this is something I could create myself?

More Pauline Oliveros - Four Meditations For Orchestra

We've been rehearsing these for a few weeks now, so we've now done the Four Meditations all the way through. I still like them a lot, but they do present some challenges. Here's a copy of the last two movements that we hadn't done yet when I wrote about it last:


 






I would say these are the hardest two movements purely because they request a more reactionary response from the participant, it's always easier when you have more time to think. Although I find I do surprise myself more when I'm prompted to do things on the spot.

The third movement is great fun, and produces some fabulous sounds! I think I struggled with this one at first purely because I have very bad reaction speed and it requires participants to react quickly. However because I am forced to react quickly I do find my choice of sound is more natural, although I am limited on the violin as to the short sounds I can make which will be heard in the melee (without damaging my violin!). The results are brilliant though, as Oliveros suggests, ripples of sound are created throughout the group, although in our case the ripples are perhaps more cacophonous than Oliveros had intended... Once the long tones join in, particularly when these are allowed to glissando, there is a natural building of tension moving to the last movement. On reflection, I think building in some quieter ripples (the score does say pp - ff) might have an altogether different effect, especially when combined with the longer tones. Also, I think we tended to move through the variations very quickly, and I would have liked to listen to each one a bit longer before moving onto the next.

The last movement I find the hardest, I think because it has a more improvisatory approach than the others. The idea is to think of a tone, and then devise 'approaches' and 'departures' from that tone. When it works well the effect is great; momentary improvisations with recurring motifs that remain constant throughout the performance. However the temptation is to just use the instructions as an improvisation, which I don't think is the intention. Of course the movement is improvisatory, they all are, but the focus is always on the core sound that the participant chooses at the start of the performance, and I'm not convinced that all participants were focussed on their core sound. That said, perhaps I was being too strict with myself with regards to the improvisation and perhaps I should have explored the possibilities around my sound more. The thing that I found most difficult was the challenge of both interacting with my core sound and with the other members of the group at the same time; I think there is a balance between the two which I have not quite found yet.

Our performance is on the 6th December at Wharf Chambers in Leeds, so I have plenty of time to practice. James, our group leader has done an event page here. I'm looking forward to it!

Alvin Lucier and the Physics of Listening

I listened to a recording of In Memoriam Jon Higgins by Alvin Lucier today; I’ve included a version of this on youtube below:

The piece is for clarinet in A and pure wave oscillator; the oscillator gradually ascends in frequency from 130.8 Hz to 1244.5 Hz, the range of the clarinet, whilst the clarinet intones with held notes across the ascending wave as the oscillator either approaches or departs from the tone. In the case of this video, the process takes about 20 minutes. The idea being that audible beating patterns emerge slowing or quickening in frequency as the clarinet and oscillator become closer or further apart, providing an odd sense of satisfaction as they reach unison. There’s a really interesting article on the physics of beating patterns and Tartini tones here.

I suppose what really interested me about this piece is that the interesting thing or even the objective, is neither the clarinet, nor the oscillator, nor the actual process itself. There is no notable motif or harmony in either part and the process is the same all the way through, so there is no surprising twist or conclusion. The focus here is purely on the actual physical manifestation of the sound, and the effects that listening to it produce for the listener. So what I’m listening to is not the actual ‘music’, but the sound my ears make when two tones approach each other in frequency. I’m listening to my listening.

Jean-François Laporte - Totem Électrique in Huddersfield

(Jean François Laporte - from http://www.electrocd.com/en/bio/laporte_je/)

Thursday 5th November - Phipps Hall

I hadn't really heard much about Laporte or his works before I attended his concert yesterday, I went partly because his approach to listening sounded quite relevant to my study, and also partly because I was curious about what his own musical instrument inventions might entail. I'm glad to say I wasn't disappointed. His instrument set up, called a babel table, can be seen in at the start of the video below (in fact I'm fairly sure this was actually one of the works he performed) along with electronic pre-recorded audio which was mixed and digitally altered live and fed through speakers set up around the room. The effect was that I felt immersed in the sound as it was swapped between the speakers, which added a further dimension to the performance which I haven't really experienced before. 

I am in awe of the sheer breadth of sound that can be created by this instrument! I heard birdsong, crickets, groans, moans, sighs, cries, breath, wind, clicks, whirrs, hums... There were parts of the performance, particularly in the third peace, which sounded to me like an active conversation in another language between the digital audio and the instrument itself. Determined to concentrate on my 'listening' exercise, I tasked myself with creating a list of all the sounds I could hear or what they reminded me of, which I now realise was impossible and also quite fruitless, because regardless of how accurate or fitting my description of the sound at the time, my perception it may well have changed by the time I even got home. 'Birdsong' for example, is a very general concept: Which bird is singing? Is it in a bush? In a church? Far away? Under water? The sound I heard could have been an exact tone of a blue tit in a Bosch model WAB24161GB washing machine but would I be able to describe it as such so accurately? No. Even if I had, if I became aurally distracted by a blackbird on my walk home would I forget what my own notion of that sound was? Probably. Still, in my effort to listen 'properly', I even went so far as to close my eyes to stop the performance from 'distracting' me and telling myself off whenever it did.

The nature of a performance, even one with such a wealth of interesting sounds, is surely that it is a performance and therefore surely should be enjoyed as such; a whole performance. Laporte himself discusses this here (the part to which I am referring is near the end of the clip at around 3:32, although the whole thing is quite an interesting insight to his work and listening practices), that the context in which you are listening is almost as important or maybe even more important than the listening itself. The lightning in the room, the temperature, the movement of the performers and my position in the space, all made the performance what it was, for me, at that time. Cornelius Cardew makes a similar point in his essay, 'Toward an Ethic of Improvisation' (found here) when discussing the recording of improvisational performance:

It also struck me at that time that it is impossible to record with any fidelity a kind of music that is actually derived in some sense from the room in which it is taking place -its shape, acoustical properties, even the view from the windows. What a recording produces is a separate phenomenon, something really much stranger than the playing itself, since what you hear on tape or disc is indeed the same playing, but divorced from its natural context. What is the importance of this natural context? The natural context provides a score which the players are unconsciously interpreting in their playing. Not a score that is explicitly articulated in the music and hence of no further interest to the listener as is generally the case in traditional music, but one that coexists inseparably with the music, standing side by side with it and sustaining it.

So maybe I was wrong to be annoyed with myself for being unable to purely listen, and maybe what I should have been doing is concentrating on listening but in the context of my surroundings. This could pose some equally interesting questions: Would I have had an entirely different experience if I was in a different part of the room? Would it be best to sit in the centre to get the full effect of the surround sound? Or around the edge where there is more contrast? Would I have heard the sounds differently if I didn't know where they were coming from or couldn't see the instrument? Would I hear more sounds? Would I be able to tell the difference between the ones coming from the instrument and the mixing desk to my left? Would I hear differently if I saw it a second time or on a different day? What if the room was hotter or colder, or brighter, would I hear differently then?

Sound in its context (I also refer to my earlier posts with regards to 'unwanted' or 'innapropriate' sound) is something that is becoming increasingly interesting to me and something that I will consider more in future.

Listening Exercise No. 1

Twitter

Listen to birdsong.
When it feels right, join in, either in your head or out loud.
Have a conversation, or improvise.
The exercise ends when the conversation or improvisation ends.

I have a very early memory of being in primary school, either year one or two, and looking out of a high window which faced out onto the nature reserve. There was a bird there, in the willow tree, singing and flapping around. At that moment I wished that I could be a bird, singing and flapping around, and not have to go to school.