Ship of Fools?

as you wish...

Who I'd Pick: Eliane Radigue, Michel Gondry, Bill Viola

Who'd Film Us: Jean-Pierre Jeunet, David Lean

Who'd Write the Score: DAT Politics, Ennio Morricone, Luc Ferrari, a twelfth century Franciscan monk

What We'd Read to Each Other: L'Écume des Jours, wine labels, "Imaginary Wedding Song" by Terrance Hayes, "how to" books on designing & building a house for sound snobs

What Wouldn't be Left Behind: the laptop computer, saffron & nutmeg, swim goggles, a pocket full of different birdcalls

When: May 1958, autumn into the holidays, May 29 1913, before becoming mermaids

Where We'd Eat: Chez Panisse (Berkeley, CA), Balthazar (NYC), Aux Lyonnais (Paris), on the beach (Sicily), chez moi

Where We'd Sleep: under the stars (random open field, Montana), in the quietest room, or maybe here

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Meet the Teacher

"Good morning, class!"

1.

What makes a "beat" interesting?

2.

What makes a beat generic?

3.

What are some examples of amazing beats?

4.

Ok...same three questions, but define "drone" instead of beat.

5.

Tempo--like a sprained ankle--what do you favor?

6.

Do you notice how often your tempo is in the comfort zone?

7.

Do you notice how often your dynamics are in the comfort zone?

8.

Do you want to be a listener's comfort zone?

9.

Why should I want to listen to your comfort zone?

10.

What, really, is structure?*

11.

What makes a loop unfailingly interesting?
(as opposed to...)

12.

What makes a loop dangerously sleepy-time...easily, boringly comfortable?

13.

How might you make that loop LESS OBVIOUS?**

14.

Wait, did we talk about structure being sort of BULLSHIT? Oh! You think I'm wrong? Prove me wrong!***

15.

Where's the flexibility if you insist on so much of "the music" being performed electronically?

*Structure, my ass. The artist can always defend their work when they build it on a structure, regardless of how unrecognizable or audible that structure may be. We artists LOVE structure. And eighty years from now, some scholar too smart for their own good, at home alone with a good bottle of wine, is going to have to write a thesis paper, and maybe they'll stumble on the structure that was indeed the artist's very concept. A paper shall be written. Merit shall proven, and thus deserved, and thus awarded. But the audience...let's talk about the audience...

**Er...try layering three of the same on top of each other, offset by a few seconds?

***Structure means nothing if it isn't performed well.

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L' Opéra Continue: Aprés le Naufrage

pour Mrs S et R

"Je suis tombé," il a crié. "Je suis tombé amoureux." Et alors il est tombé dans mes bras et a commencé à pleurer. Je viens d'arriver à la maison aprés ce naufrage-là. L'eau gouttait de mes oreilles, mes mains, et ma tête. Mes habits étaient tout mouillés. Je n'ai plus eu de cheveux. (Les poissons les ont mangés, vous souvenez-vous?) Et voici! Le petit prince est de très mauvaise humeur!

J'ai preparé du café et des gâteaux secs pour nous. Alors nous nous sommes assis au milieu de la chambre, et le petit prince m'a dit le conte complet:

"Je suis tombé amoureux d'un bel homme. Nous avons eu beaucoup de bons moments ensemble--des moments incroyables--et c'était une lente et sincère chutte pour moi. J'ai voulu que notre amitié devienne un grand amour. Mais il a décidé qu' il ne m'aimait pas. Rien ne change son avis. Je ne sais pourquoi. Je m'obstine à inventer des raisons. Est-ce que c'est parce que je préfère ce vin-ci et il préfère ce vin-là? Est-ce que c'est parce que j'aime ces fleurs-ci et il aime celles-là? Ces raisons-là n'expliquent rien! Cet homme-là est très intelligent et aussi créatif, mais il est stupide! Quel chien! J'ai ainsi cherché à fuir la situation."

J'ai regardé le petit prince avec un oeil sérieux.

"Oui! Croyez-moi! Trois fois! Je suis devenu un oiseau et j'ai cherché à voler loin d'ici. Le premier vol a commencé, et c'était bien, mais soudainement je n'ai pas pu voler. L'homme m'a capturé avec une ficelle. J'ai volé dans le cercle autour de l'homme et alors..." [le petit prince a regardé ses souliers et n'a pas parlé pour un moment] "...et alors j'étais de bonne humeur encore. Comprenez-vous?"

Maintenant le prince chante une belle aria: "le Cercle est Infini." Parce qu' il est trés jeune, sa voix est simple et légère et naive. C'est la voix d'un ange. Cette chanson-ci est dans le style de Monteverdi, un compositeur de la fin de la Renaissance. Pendant qu' il chante, je commence à pleurer. La chanson est trop belle.

À la fin de l'aria, le petit prince a continué:

"J'ai commencé mon deuxième vol, mais j'ai regardé en arrière. J'ai regardé au delà de mes ailes et alors j'ai pensé à toutes les fois ensemble--celles merveilleuses et celles romantiques..."

J'ai interrompu, "Mon cher prince...je pense que tu ne veux pas quitter cet homme. C'est dur ça."

Le prince a eu l'air un peu triste, et donc je lui ai donné un gâteau sec, celui avec des morceaux de chocolat. Il l'a mangé et alors a dit:

"C'est vrai. J'aime l'homme. Et je ne veux pas m'en aller, mais je dois partir. Donc le troisième vol...il était presque parfait. J'ai volé vite et voyagé loin de cet homme-là. J'étais un bel oiseau. Mais alors, une aile m'a manqué! Je suis tombé du ciel! J'ai ressemblé à un grand accident d'avion."

"Ce n'est pas un naufrage," j'ai dit gravement et le petit prince s'est renfrogné furieusement. J'ai dit, "Prenez un autre gâteau et plus de ce cafe-ci. Ne soyez pas de mauvaise humeur!"

Maintenant nous écoutons une autre chanson. Cette chanson-ci est un "remix" de "C'est Normal" par Brigitte Fontaine, une chanteuse trés populaire il y a trente ou quarante ans. Cette nouvelle version-ci est drôle et loufoque. Le groupe expérimental s'appelle "2&" jouent la chanson. Ils utilisent beaucoup d'instruments bizarres: une boîte de thé, un sifflet d'oiseau, et des papiers d'emballage, et ils chantent les paroles aussi. Ils ne parlent pas très bien le Français, mais la chanson est charmante dans ce style-là. C'est différent de l'aria. Un chanteur chante une aria avec précision, mais une chanson populaire est quelquefois un peu imparfaite. Tu-comprends?

Nous arrivions à la fin de l'histoire. Regardez-nous: avec le coeur brisé, et l'aile brisée...plus de cheveux et les vêtements mouillés. L'eau de la mer faisait un cercle autour de moi. L'eau de ses larmes faisait un cercle autour du prince. (De loin, la scène ressemblait à un grand huit.) Soudainement les sons de la pluie et de la mer versent dans la chambre, et la scène devient noire. Beaucoup d'oiseaux blancs volent de nulle part. Les oiseaux ne disent pas, "cui, cui." Non! Ces oiseaux-ci parlent, "C'est la vie! C'est ça la vie!" Nous ne savons pas quoi dire. Ce moment-ci ressemble à la fin d' une grande tragédie, mais ce n'est pas la fin. L'opèra abstrait continue...

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In Grey

People seem to want black and white. Pure and concrete. (Or, pure concrete?) I am more than content--I'm happy actually--with my quilt of myriad greys...of white and black and pearl and slate. I value the whimsical momentary opinion or a fleeting reaction, particularly in the immediate hours after experiencing an exhibit, concert or performance. I can wrap up in a mess of contradictory thoughts, or throw them aside, for a few days or months or a year, knowing that eventually the ideas sift and separate and settle into more solidly formed--more black and white--aesthetic principles. This occurs over time. Instant judgments and the nervous desire to make grandiose statements about how all the world should perceive or appreciate a given art are often dangerously dismissive. I would even go so far as to say that the quick judgment is nothing more than a filtered version of one's preconceptions rather than an honest evaluation of the real time interaction with the work.

So there.

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Making Noise

"Let's make noise," I said. "How hard can it be?"

I can now tell you: making noise is really hard. I heard in my mind something very low and loud--that turn your bowels and raise your hairs kind of too low and too loud. Such a sound might thunder but become soft, from the amplified scratch of fingernails on a chalkboard to an anonymous snarl. Noise is sound, yes, but it is also visceral, itchy and uncomfortable; like an enormous weight, it can smash your heart against your back ribcage. The best noise is pure paralysis, often meaningless, but, like a lover's lies, potently capable of suggesting emotion.

A few weeks ago, Roddy and I attempted to make noise, but instead we made music. We devised a plan to improvise on our usual assortment of instruments--toy percussion, bells, bird calls, and a tin cup--but rudely, without interruption and with no intention of listening to each other. Perhaps our ears have been too schooled, but on playback, we heard our instrumental assault as music replete with phrases, cadences and motifs; it sounded like a very dense and complicated score, all multi-voice counterpoint and non-stop polyrhythms. While we could have subjected our "piece" to some computer processing, thus turning it into noise, we both felt that the element of noise should exist primarily in the original sample with only a slight addition of computer effects. Using extensive processing felt a little dishonest--like just another computer trick.

"Aha!" we thought. Let's consult the computer (SuperCollider and Max/MSP help files) for a few authoritative examples of noise: pink noise, grey noise, white noise, etc. This will inform, inspire and focus our experimental process. On listening to pure noise, however, I heard as much constancy as in the chaos of our instrumental improv. It was too much the same; it was boring! I said, "I don't care if it is a computer definition. That is not noise at all."

So we returned to the drawing board. As I ran my fingernail along the edge of coiled zither string, (not being at the piano, I had to settle for a zither, natch) I imagined again a simple musical sound, fairly narrow in range of pitch, dynamic, tempo and articulation and that through subtle computer processing would emerge as a droning, ugly, elusively fluctuating harmonic bed. "Grrr," went my nail along the string. "Grrr," and Roddy captured it, ran it through his incredible SuperCollider patch and, voila! We suddenly became the proud parents of "noise" that, while not yet perfect, pleased us both.

As silly as it may seem, the purpose of 2& practicing "how to make noise" is not dissimilar to a pianist practicing scales and arpeggios or to a composer solving a four-part chorale harmonization. We need this technique in our compositional and performance toolkits so that when one of us hears an appropriate moment for noise, we don't have to waste time going through the trials and errors of making it, either in private rehearsal or in a live performance. Luckily, some of our miserable attempts in the past few weeks may still serve us well. The crazy instrumental barrage might become our "outro" music, for that post-performance time when we're putting away instruments, talking with inquisitive audience members and looping up cables. You'll just have to come hear for yourself!

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