Tom Johnson - Rational Melodies (HatHut, 1993)

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Disclaimer: I am not enthralled by the music herein and am largely only providing a link to invite skeptics of what follows. I, however, am using this space to expand on a thought which has been plaguing me for the past few weeks.

Rational Melodies, or so Tom Johnson calls them, is twenty-one short movements composed through simple algorithms, each leaving the orchestration indeterminate (in this rendition, Blum opts for the piccolo, flute, alto flute, and bass flute).

Before progressing, semantics are in order. How exactly are we to interpret rationality in this context? For me, as an Economics graduate student, the word is about as loaded as one can be. Obviously I do not think Johnson was referring to Homo economicus, nor his/her social science/behavioral brethren; nonetheless, enough similarities exist (or so I believe) to spark my interest. I presume the rationality Johnson invokes is the kind employed by the serialist: a system; an axiomatic approach to a discipline; or more precisely, a process. A certain composer (whose Kool-aid I have admittedly drank) once said, "Boulez only cares how things are constructed, not how they sound." Hyperbole, probably, but there are some undeniable aspects to that quote. Since Schoenberg and his subsequent "death", so much of the art of composition focuses on the science of process -- a set of rules upon which dynamics, tempo, and tonality can be deduced.

So then are the so-called Minimalists a reaction to rationality? From some of Steve Reich's quotes, I can only assume Stockhausen, Berio, and Boulez have been on his and his cohort's mind. No, or at least not a rejection of rationality (or an embrace of irrationality), I assert. I am well aware of the musicological reductionism going on here, but I have a point, I swear your honor. As aleatoric In C or Rational Melodies are, ultimately, when the symbols become sound, the piece becomes fully determined and all we are left with is what we heard and a document of process. Indeed there are some heuristics lying in the nether region between composition and performance, but what I perceive is a systematic approach to irrationality, a realm of cognition in which logic holds no power. Thus the prior quoted composer would retort to Johnson's attempt at reductio ad absurdum with, "The composer makes plans, music laughs."

Where does that leave us? Is all music inherently rational in a deductive sense? Well, no. Firstly, even in my sloppiest of fervor, I doubt I could claim induction. Secondly, rationality has successfully been weakened, I believe, through the resignation of control (not to be confused with the handing-over of control to stochastic means), through the abandonment of expectations and the embracing of the personal experience. John Cage once wrote, "Any attempt to exclude the 'irrational' is irrational. Any composing strategy which is wholly 'rational' is irrational in the extreme." That is, the place for the aesthetician, not the academician, is in the middle, unaware of the poles.

Everyone should take a gander at Johnson's The Voice of New Music, a collection of articles written for the Village Voice on the new sound happening in late 70's, early 80's New York. This can be found for free (and legally) in pdf and word format here.

P.S. As I was flipping through March's Wire, I was reminded of what renewed my interest in Tom Johnson: another rendition of Rational Melodies is now out on New World CD, and seeing as the HatHut release is out of print (I think), I direct consumers here. Additionally, it appears as though Wire had a rather different take on this composition. While normally such a contradiction would hurt an assertion, I think this aids-not-proves my not-argument.

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Gérard Grisey - Quatre chants pour franchir le seuil (Kairos, 2001)

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Given how popular Les espaces acoustiques was last year, I thought maybe I should further Grisey-up this blog. But then what should follow that aforementioned mammoth of a song cycle; it is rather tough to follow up one of the greatest pieces of music (yes music, not composition) of the past 100 years? Lucky for me, although his life was cut short -- something which Feldman would conjecture adds to the allure --, Grisey has a healthy body of work. Doubly lucky, I am only intimately familiar with one other, so the decision wasn't as hard as the past few sentences would imply.

Composed at age 52, in 1998, the same year as Grisey's death, Quatre chants pour franchir le seuil, or "four songs for crossing the threshold", is an opus for soprano and 15 players. The vocal score is drawn from the Epic of Gilgamesh and various Egyptian tales, providing ethereal and heavy-handed material for the soprano (in this instance, Catherine Dubosc). The title truly says it all: Grisey's final composition attempts to bring the listener, or possibly the composer, to terms with their inevitable end. But this acceptance isn't a nihilistic resignation to death; no, there is a haunting spirituality all throughout these four movements. In this piece, Grisey seems to discover that we are all apart of some cycle beyond reason and logic (ahem, Boulez); he knows his time is at hand and is finally comfortable with whatever lies beyond the threshold which has enclosed his past fifty-two years.

Readers who are more familiar with composition theory: Can you educate me on how this was written? I suspect it is the product of far more heuristics (though still adhering to the timbral tenets of Spectralism) than Grisey's highly technical early output and more so than most Frenchmen of the past fifty-odd years were producing.

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Julián Carrillo - Six Quasi-Sonatas in Quarter Tones for Solo Cello (Quindecim, 2008)

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Julián Carrillo is probably one of the most underrated Mexican composers in the history of music. Continuously dwarfed in prestige by the nationalist giants (more exotic, more stereotypically Mexican), Carrillo was relegated to ‘minor madman’ status in his own country, left practically in denial as he proclaimed to have found the one key in revolutionizing the entire discipline of music: the microtonal system of Sonido 13. He began studying microtonalism as early as 1895; in the possible restructuring of music in this vein he found and imagined a perfect modernist utopia of the new: better and greater instruments yet to be discovered, radically new forms of composing upon an entire universe of sounds and meanings that had already overpowered the old, utterly obsolete system of twelve tones. Sonido 13 is a clear, almost entranced vision of a marvelous future that never came to be. Ever since that year, Carrillo sacrificed everything in the name of musical revolution (as a violin virtuoso, he had a very successful future to look forward to, but then he wouldn’t be able to see and truly listen in forms before impossible to imagine) and practically re-wrote the entirety of the music system over the years. Of course, it was a one-man movement of so radical a change that not many people took him seriously, simply because it implied a different, under-construction mindset that demanded the immediate erasure of everything (and that’s absolutely everything) previously learned in order to effect a real change.

Just like Harry Partch would do later in the century, Carrillo built a series of new instruments as well as modifications of existing ones he called ‘metamorphosed instruments’. The concept of metamorphosis was very important in this regard, since he proposed the transformation of canonic pieces into new works of art intervened by Sonido 13 and its re-born tools: not only would the future be a brilliant domain of otherness, but the past would be retouched, reevaluated, and therefore destroyed as burden and history. In a more proactive (or at least not denial-focused) movement than that of the Futurists, the past would be reinvented and shot into the future as fundamentally new. This is where Carrillo immensely distances himself from the rest of the Mexican avant-garde and surpasses them in their own terms, for there is no longer a need of a forced balance between the traditional, the popular, and the cutting edge; the discussion is dissolved and revealed as empty. Everything would be created within a realm of infinite possibility. In his time, perhaps Carrillo was the most radical modernist in the American continent, and his writings and works easily rival (at least in scope) those of his European counterparts in the search for renovation.

This double-album with his “Six Quasi-Sonatas in Quarter Tones for Solo Cello” (1959-1964) is a very special work of art; it’s perhaps the last effort by cellist Jimena Giménez Cacho (she’s been pretty vocal about Carrillo’s general dismissal in Mexico, and a passionate activist for the recovery of his work) because of institutional lack of interest and rejection (only the Big Three of the Mexican classical music panorama, Chávez, Revueltas, and Ponce, mirroring the Big Three muralists in painting, are officially worthy of continuous recognition), as well as probably the last work by Carrillo before his death in 1965. It’s a very dense album that oozes a strange, almost disturbing kind of virtuosity, channeling the anguish of decades of failures and rejections with a Buddhist calmness of temperament that displays great technical prowess as much as strong, grisly feelings serenely under control. The microtones truly have an effect upon the body that is altogether different from any other sounds, as if they were bringing forth parts of the brain that weren’t working before, parts that are a little wilder, a little bit more brutal. Maybe, if one listens to Sonido 13 long enough, Carrillo’s experience will come true for us too and we will start hearing the world in entirely new ways. Or maybe not, but in any case, this is music that is really, really interesting, and which needs quite a lot more listeners and interpretations than the one hundred or so registered in Carrillo’s last.fm. If microtonality is your thing and you’re tired of good ol’ Ives and Ivan Wyschengradsky, give this dreamful radical enamored by possibility a shot. I’m sure you’ll like it!

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Kinshi Tsuruta - Satsuma - Biwa (Ocora, 1991)

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When you're on the subways for the first time, you quickly realize that most people adopt the blank stare of a hardened New Yorker. Some people attempt to appear preoccupied, too busy to be bothered by whatever threat is nearby. You'll also soon realize that many people have clung to their iPods, streaming music to bolster their confidence, or to enhance their attitude. Because those little ear buds are so terrible at getting the majority of the sound into the ear, it is pretty easy to tell what most people are listening to. As the birthplace of hip-hop, quite often the common New Yorker will have mechanical beats blaring out into the car for all to hear. Other times, as is to be expected, the most recent top 40 songs are recognizable.

For me, ever the contrarian snob, I get my New York stare in proper shape in a slightly different manner. Tsuruta's lute work, akin in some respects to intimidating street musicians (the city is littered with fascinating practitioners from around the world), and the spare, plaintive vocals, have such an intensity to them. Translation is not necessary: these tracks' twang, the rattle, all complement a mood of penitent resignation absent nearly everywhere these days. Divided into three longish tracks that hover around the 20 minute mark, 'Satsuma-Biwa' can be a harrowing listen, so I tried a couple tricks: when focusing on the record, I listen intently to the instrument, as it centers and accentuates the vocals, punctuating individual lines and setting a sort of pacing, if not a true time signature. I think about how those sounds are made, what technique is required, how the instrument looks when being used. I think about the lines, bows, plucks, bends, everything. For me, what emerges is an intimidating, stylized focus, characterized by the vaguely familiar, but the viscerally present intensity.

Perhaps in due time, American music will achieve this ability to use utterly traditional sounds as a vehicle for powerfully unique, and darkly intense music, music that will transcend tradition and fend off anyone by power of will alone.

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Ensemble Pittoresque - For This Is Past (Clogsontronics, 1983)

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Ensemble Pittoresque formed in 1977 when "The Sex Pistols, Kraftwerk, Can, Faust, Fripp & Eno, Pere Ubu and a wide variety of mainstream artists pounded the world with their personal pinnacles of artistic brilliance." Many see Ensemble Pittoresque as fore-bearers of "cold wave," whatever that is... And while it may be true that there would be no Cold Cave without Ensemble Pittoresque, I hear this more as a cross between Bowie's Low and This Heat, whatever that means...

Most songs follow a deceptively simple early synth-pop format, and do it incredibly well, but I'm not sure that I would be discussing this album at all if it weren't for "Auratorium." The first time I put on For This Is Past I was half-asleep and ready to call it a night when this track grabbed my attention and really threw me back into the music. I sat up wide-awake until the record was finished. "Auratorium" stands out from the rest of the record because although it may not be, its choral samples give it a much denser feel. Its forward thrust gives the song an almost proto-house feel. It's just exciting music, plain and simple. Elsewhere "Maitre Satori" uses classic "O Superman" vocoders to great effect. Every song here is a synth-pop classic. It's still available from their label's website, and I believe you get both the LP and CD when you order it, so you should feel even more inclined to pick up this fantastic record!

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Fred Frith - Step Across the Border (RecRec, 1990)

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What I offer to you, technically, is the soundtrack to the movie of the same title; however, "soundtrack" is a bit misleading. The film is a documentary of Fred Frith and his interactions with heavyweights of the late 80's avant-rock/improv scene (Tom Cora, John Zorn, and Arto Lindsay, to name a few). Again, "documentary" may not be the best word choice, for even the subtitle reads "A ninety minute celluloid improvisation by Nicolas Humbert and Werner Penzel". That is, Step Across the Border was shot through the sporadic filming of band practices (mainly Skeleton Crew, I believe), live performances, accidental conversations, and impromptu improvisations. Thus resulting in a collage of (i) music at moments resembling Frith's solo work but mostly in the vein of his 80's colloborative efforts (especially Art Bears and the aforementioned Skeleton Crew), (ii) found urban sound, and (iii) musings on art, life, and politics. No better is this, and dare I say Frith himself, encapsulated with this final scene.

But again, what I provide below is the soundtrack. Please do add this film to your Netflix queue, if not for its merits as a film, but at least for the wondrous integration of sound and vision. There is a certain tenderness to some of the shots, in particular those with René Lussier, wherein the improvisations take on an extremely melodic form, almost defiantly composed, yet obviously spontaneous. The only further musing I have is on the track 'Morning Song': I cannot shake the feeling that, with the use of the alarm as a rhythmic element, this track is a nod to Derek Bailey.

Note: Both this album and a DVD copy of the film can be purchased at the label link provided at the top of the post.

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Ross Bolleter - Secret Sandhills and Satellites (EMANEM, 2006)

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A fascinating record, in part for the simpler reasons, like it sounds good, there are exciting moments, and the development is thoughtful and varied. If you like to know what the guts of broken pianos can sound like, this is your record, to be sure. But for me, there are other, larger things that intrigue me about this record's concept. In search of broken pianos, Bolleter touches on really interesting notions of impermanence and our place in the world. When I was listening to this record last, I thought about how each spot has the enormity of the world working its friction upon it, how the whole system of Earth and civilization brought forth these pianos, each with their own stories, wrought from different woods by different hands. Pianos, of course, are status symbols, a wonderful confluence of class, art, and craftsmanship. Yet, time, the whole wheel that brought about these instruments, also is what slowly wears them down, crumbled beyond use, discarded in church basements, the street, or the dump.

Yet Bolleter has a different idea about the end. True, you couldn't play a properly intoned set of pieces on many of these, but there is still so much sound, so much music here. These pianos might actually be more alive than they ever were under Bolleter's careful eye. His digs into the organs of the instrument, resurrects them for at least one last play. The piano, clearly, IS sound. Sure, there is a conventional use for pianos, but beyond that life, these pianos can be re-purposed to produce the most fascinating works. So, besides worn down strings or wood, perhaps our ideas, or rather, our ability to produce ideas about what is music and what can make music, is ruined, not these pianos. This won't be a tome on recycling, but rather a plea to enjoy the product of a man able to see something special in things people have forgotten. Isn't that one of the most common ways to create beautiful music?

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