Any jazz musician knows exactly what the Real Book is. They probably own one or two; stashed in a corner collecting dust. Here’s the story of why the Real Book was created, and why it is so essential and useless at the same time.
Around 1975, a group of unnamed students at the Berklee College of Music decided to create something like Fake Books, but more accurate and containing music that was relevant to jazz musicians. They probably wanted access to a collection of new charts by people like Chick Corea and Steve Swallow. So they went to work transcribing lead sheets for their favorite tunes and writing them out by hand in what became known as the Real Book. The book was an immediate success.
It’s hard to imagine anyone would complain about the Real Book. Any jazz musician should be thankful that somebody else already did the work of transcribing the chords and melody of the standard jazz repertoire, right? Plus, if you don’t know many tunes, you can show up to a jam session and just read from your handy Real Book. As great as this may sound, the fact is, if you show up to a jam with a Real Book at any point past high school, you will be immediately shunned and your quality of musicianship will probably be questioned. This reaction may just be the product of battling egos and “jazz boys” trying to prove that they know more than other “jazz boys.” However, widespread disrespect for the use of Real Books is a legitimate position to hold.
Aimee Nolte, a jazz educator whose youtube channel has over 100k followers, sums up a few of these reasons in the video below. She mentions that if you want to learn a song, it’s much more likely to stick if you learn it by ear instead of relying on the lead sheet. If you’re always faking it, you’re never really learning anything. Plus, books are heavy!
Furthermore, even in the newest versions of the Real Book, the chords are often wrong. For example, if you’re familiar with jazz harmony, try listening to Herbie Hancock’s Dolphin Dance and comparing the chords you hear to the chords on the lead sheet:
The Real Book has its down sides, but we must not forget the lasting and widespread impact it has had on jazz. It will always be a great reference to start with when learning a tune, and its a great backup when you’re on the spot. As an article in jazzadvice.com states, “the book is like a pair of training wheels for your improvising.” Just remember that at the end of the day it’s always better to learn a tune by ear.
My blog post is about using the flute in ways you don’t usually hear it.
A common theme throughout the history of music is the way the flute is used in new and innovative ways that you don’t usually hear it. From the transformation of wood to metal, from vertical flutes to horizontal flutes, from 1 key to 20+ keys, etc., the flute has become very versatile and composers are using this to their advantage to create new sound effects to add to their works. This is especially true in the last 50 years, but it can even be dated back to Tchaikovsky being the first prominent composer to use the flute for new sound effects such as flutter-tonguing in his ballet The Nutcracker. There have been so many composers and flutists experimenting with what the flute can do and pushing its boundaries that today, it can sound completely unfamiliar to non-flutist in contemporary pieces.
One of the most influential people in contemporary flute composing is Robert Dick. Robert Dick was a classically trained flutist who started experimenting with what the flute can do. Today, he is known as the father of the contemporary flute. He made the flute more known for extended flute techniques. Some examples include: Singing and playing, Circular breaking, Breath tones, Alternate fingerings, multiphonic, flutter-tonguing, key slaps, whistle tones, and jet whistle effects.
I want to share an example of several of these extended techniques demonstrated in a short piece by Ian Clarke. Ian Clarke was another very influential classically trained flutist who started experimenting with the flute and he wrote some of the coolest pieces in our repertoire. One of the pieces I included as a media link is his piece called “The Great Train Race,” subtitled “The Flute as You don’t Usually Hear It!” Ian Clarke uses the flute’s extended techniques to make the flute sound like a train. He starts off telling the performer to use a residual tone while tonging very fast. (This makes the flute sound like a train “chugging” along). This is achieved by the breathy noise of the flute that is left over when a proper tone is purposefully not formed. Also found in this piece are explosive harmonics, multi-phonics (two notes at once, achieved by new fingerings that Ian Clarke discovered), circular breathing, and singing while playing. The piece is highly entertaining. I also included another highly entertaining piece by Ian Clarke called “Zoom Tube.” This uses the flute in even more ways that I haven’t discussed. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zJUMsRic2U4 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2-_J0sJ2ZjI https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ObUREzucuW8
I think that the flute is one of the most experimented-with instruments because it’s different from other wind instruments because you don’t blow directly in it, but across it so there is a lot of manipulation with the lips you can do to achieve different results. And another reason the flute is so experimented with is because of the large open-hole keys. There are so many odd fingerings and sounds you can achieve by only covering the holes a little bit, such as glissandos.
In conclusion, When you think of the flute, you probably think of a very pretty, melodic, bright instrument (or perhaps a harsh, shrieking, annoying instrument) but nowadays, the flute is becoming increasingly known as one of the most experimented with and versatile instruments. There are a tremendous amount of cool things you can do with the flute that you don’t normally hear and I think that we will continue to see new composers and flutists pushing the instrument past it’s normal realms.
To us violinists, the bow is arguably as important as the violin itself. Without the bow, the only way to make a melodic sound on the violin is by plucking the strings, and while that can be fun sometimes, I don’t think an audience nor the righthand index finger of the soloist would be very pleased by the Tchaikovsky violin concerto entirely in pizzicato. Indeed, the bow is a valuable piece of technology. The bows we have today are able to deliver the tone and technique needed to play Tchaikovsky’s works, but bows were not initially born with these capabilities. What the majority of violinists are using now is known as the modern bow; prior to this there were two other categories of bows: the classical bow and the baroque bow. And even before the first baroque bows, there existed the bow in its earliest form.
Early Bows
When thinking of early forms of violin bows, people tend to first think of baroque bows. But the baroque bow didn’t just pop out of nowhere; even before the baroque bow, there was an initial model that accompanied early stringed instruments. The shape of these bows was more comparable to an archery bow than the violin bows we have today due to their convex structure (2). Tension of the hair was not a consideration as the hair was attached on this stick directly with no way of tightening or loosening it.
https://youtu.be/zNvPJ2Fuzns
This video demonstrates the main use of early bows: to produce sound on an instrument for rhythmic accompaniment. Notice the length of the bow: it is much shorter than the modern bows we use today. At first glance, they look awkwardly short, but their length was enough to serve their purpose. These early bows were most commonly used to accompany vocal music as the rhythm section since they were viewed as of lesser importance than singing.
The Baroque Bow
The invention of the Baroque violin during the 16th century was created due to a demand for something new. Initially, older bows that were designed for rhythm instruments were used on the baroque violin, but as Italian composers such as Arcangelo Corelli began to compose for the violin as a solo instrument, there became a need for longer bows to produce a more singing sound. The lengthening of the bow set off a chain reaction of multiple constructional modifications, such as added height to the top of the bow, which helped balance the bow and made it possible to comfortably use the full length. Initially, the tension of the bow hair was changed by how much pressure the player put on it with their thumb, but this idea of hair tension was played around with until a system was developed where the bow hair could be loosened or tightened by a screw. Typically made from snakewood, the stick started out as convex but as time went on, convex shapes decreased in popularity as straight/concave shapes became the norm. Other than these general changes, there was no standard model for the baroque bow because of the wide range artistic choices bow makers of this era made. Both ends of baroque bows were decorated and designed to fit the aesthetic ideals of the maker.
This is an example of the ornamentation on baroque bows: near the frog, the screw has been decorated with multiple circular shapes, and the tip is shaped in an upward swoop. The wood used for this bow is also easily identifiable as snakewood due to it’s scale-like pattern. (Image by CJS Steven Violin Supplies).
The Classical Bow: A Time of Transition
During the end of the 18th and beginning of the 19th centuries was the age of the classical bow. However, the “transitional bow” would be a more proper name for this bow as bows made during this period were “open to all influences” and ever evolving (1). Similar to the reasons for the development of the Baroque bow, the developments of the Classical bow were inspired by the changes in music composed for string instruments, as new solo repertoire was emerging that called out for advanced bowing techniques and a strong, soloistic sound. Giovanni Battista Viotti (considered a father of modern violin playing) was the Corelli of this age, as his compositions and performances emphasized the importance of the bow and created a need for a more capable piece of technology (4). During this transitional stage of bow making, the main advances revolved around strengthening the bow, including a strengthened stick (improved by John Dodd’s technique for cutting wood) and a metal underslide (added by Christian Wilhelm Knopf); these inventions both removing some of the Baroque bow’s weak points (3).
Pictured above is a classical bow before the addition of the metal underslide. The metal underslide was added overtop of the hair that is laid over the frog. (Image by Bridgewood and Neitzert).
The Modern Bow, Thanks to François Xavier Tourte
Prior to the era of the modern bow, there were numerous people that influenced the development of the bow. However, the majority of developments of the modern bow can be linked to one person: François Xavier Tourte. Nicknamed the “Stradivarius of bow making,” Tourte built off and perfected the advancements of classical bows by responding to the needs of the soloists of his day. He mathematically calculated the measurements of his bows and made them concave to ensure their balance and reactivity to the string; as a result, his bows were very responsive. His changes expanded the capabilities of the bow: from variety in techniques to range of dynamics, the capacity of the bow increased greatly. A few especially notable measurements that he adjusted were the size of the head and horsehair mounts, which he widened, and the length of the bow, which he slightly increased.
As if perfecting the structural measurements of the bow wasn’t enough, Tourte also set an aesthetic standard for the bottom of the bow. He popularized pearl underslides and pearl inlays, which are now standard in terms of decorations on the frog. (Image by Photo Bucket).
Most Recent Developments
In recent years, composite bows have entered the market, most commonly made out of carbon fiber and fiberglass. This has resulted in an increase in the accessibility of bows, as not every 5th grader who wants to play in school orchestra has parents who will buy them a bow sporting the same price tag as a used car. And while initially they were made as cheaper alternatives, higher end ones are now being made. Because their material can be manufactured, composite bow they have been growing in popularity due to Pernambuco wood shortages as deforestation in their natural habitat (Brazil) has caused these trees to become quite rare.
Now What About the Future?
So, will there ever be a time when the current bow we have becomes a thing of the past? Based on the current dynamic of the violin world, I’d say not for a while at least. This is because the majority, if not all of the standard violin repertoire can be performed and properly executed with the current bow we have. Based on the trends of bow development in the past, new bows emerge whenever new music is composed or new instruments are created that require a bow with different capabilities become popular. For the bow we use today to be updated and replaced, there would have to be a significant modification to the violin or style of compositions that people are wanting to play. Given that the violin’s structure and demands of repertoire have been supported by the modern bow ever since Tourte’s modifications, I wouldn’t predict that to be anytime soon. But the field of music is ever changing, so who knows what the future may hold.
So… What?
Now that you (hopefully) have learned something about the development of the bow, you may be wondering, how does this relate to me? While I can’t speak for you, in terms of myself, learning the history of the bow has inspired me as a violinist to experiment with and work on different bow techniques that aren’t used as commonly in repertoire because the bows we have today have been developed to be extremely capable. As I practice, I have a goal in mind of growing closer to being able to utilize this technology at its full potential because now with the way the bow has been improved and developed, the potential of the bow depends on the potential of the artist. Practicing bow techniques can sometimes seem dull and uninteresting, but it’s all a matter of perspective. When new digital technology comes out, we all want to test it out and discover its features. So why not view the violin bow the same way? True, the model resting in your case at this very moment is not the same type of technology as the current iPhone or windows tablet. But think about it: have you already explored and perfected every technique the bow is capable of? Bowing exercises are only boring if you view them as simple repetitions. So go test out its features, aiming to see what you can discover through your practice and just how much you can accomplish with this piece of technology.
Compared to the other instruments like a violin or a flute, the clarinet is a fairly modern instrument. Even among the woodwind instruments, the clarinet is considered to be a very young instrument. The first instrument that resembled a clarinet was called a chalumeau, which was also a single reed cylindrical instrument but it played a little lower. It wasn’t until around the eighteenth/seventeenth century that the chalumeau begin development into something that resembled more like a clarinet with more tonal range. C. H. Denner (1655-1707), who was from Nuremberg, Germany is said to have been one of the earlier figures who tested with chalumeaus and started innovating various ways to improve upon it.
The new instrument, which was then called a clarinetto (due to it sounding like a trumpet), became much more relevant to the Western musical world. The clarinetto was basically an improvement to the chalumeau. It had two or three keys. Even though that might seem little, it helped to facilitate technical runs that might have been otherwise too difficult. It also had a louder tone quality and began to be used more and more in orchestras.
More and more improvements start to be made into the new instrument as the works for the clarinet gets more demanding. The clarinet was also seen to have potential for its beautiful tone to help color the sound of the orchestra better. Various works such as the Mozart clarinet concerto or the Stamitz concerto required solid technical proficiency which made various musicians and inventors to further develop the clarinet. Ivan Mueller, further improved the clarinet by introducing the thirteen keyed clarinet. The addition of extra keys would allow the player technical ease and the ability to produce more tone colors.
This type of clarinet that was used in this time period is more related to the Ohler clarinet that is used widely today. It is known for its beautiful tonal focus. Due to that, it could be seen as inflexible as it is harder to manipulate the sound. The Ohler system is used more in Germany and Europe as it is the clarinet used in the Berlin Philharmonic and other European orchestras. Even though this system has a beautiful sound to it, the fingering is more complicated and could make technical works difficult.
The system of clarinets that the rest of the world uses is called the Boehm system. The Boehm system was created by Theobald Boehm in the mid ninth-teenth century. The two main difference between the Boehm clarinets and the Ohler clarinet (or the German clarinets) are its tone and ease of technicality. Unlike the Ohler clarinets, the Boehm clarinets have a more flexible and lighter sound. You can say that the tonal ideas of the two clarinets were almost opposites. One with a more focused dark sound, and the other with a lighter sound. The keywork was also very different between the two. For the Boehm system, the both pinky would have four keys to make playing easier while the Ohler system had only two on each where there was a roller in the middle you had to slide with your finger if the piece required you to play the other note. It should also be noted that Michele Zukovsky, the former principal clarinet player of the LA Philharmonic, took almost a year to get acquainted with the Ohler system from the Boehm because of its technical difficulty.
Left is the German clarinet and the right is Boehm clarinet (image is from the-clarinets)
All these little inventions and refinement helped to create the modern clarinet. Musicians faced challenges from the technical limits of the instrument which set off the development which would improve the clarinet in various ways such as bettering the tone, tuning, and key work. This would help them play what is required of them and to bring out their artistry and music making.
7:55 am. I wake up to my screeching alarm and quickly jump out of bed, in a rush to get ready and get to the practice room. As I walk with purpose and determination I begin to envision what I will work on and what I want to accomplish for my morning warm-up. At this point, my flute has become such a part of me that I don’t even think twice about putting it together or playing my first notes of the day. As I start to play around with sound and vibrato my mind begins to light up with electricity, almost causing a chain reaction of panic and grief. Times like these make me want to quit the flute and start over because when things aren’t going right I tend to think that they will never go right. Sometimes I even stare at my flute in my hand and think “what the fuck is is…?”
“Wait a second, what the actual fuck is this?”
And that my friends is where my uneducated self begins to ask..”what even is the flute and who created this thing that causes me so much joy and grief?” and after doing some research this is what I found..first things first, before 1820 the flute was a mess and that’s a whole different topic that we can save for later.
Perhaps the most important year in flute making is 1832, thanks to a nice guy named Theobald Boehm. He was born in Munich Germany where he was a goldsmith and jeweler. He had always been a musician at heart from a very young age and by 1818 he was dividing his careers of goldsmith and being professional flutist in the orchestra of the royal court in Munich. By 1828, Boehm had put together a workshop to manufacture instruments. “In 1831, while visiting London, Boehm attended a concert of Charles Nicholson whose flute had unusually large finger holes which produced an exceptionally large and fine tone.” (Gemeinhardt)
The legend himself: Theo
After hearing this beautiful rich tone, Theo got a brilliant idea…why not make a conical flute with perfectly positioned toneholes for intonation and sound color and get rich! And so he did…His conical flute of 1832 was gradually accepted by the most important players of the time, and by 1843 Boehm had licensed flutemakers in London and Paris to manufacture this new instrument. In 1846, Boehm continued to perfect the flute while studying acoustics with Carl von Schafhautl at the University of Munich.
Thought he was done, NOPE.
In 1847 Boehm presents an improved flute with a parabolically conical headjoint.
“The new flute also included an improved key work which featured the pin springs patented in 1839 by Louis-Auguste Buffet. Boehm added felt pads to the key cups to prevent the escape of air. He changed the shape of the embouchure, which hitherto had been oval or round, to a rectangle with rounded corners. The material he chose was German silver, to which he ascribed the best acoustic properties.” (Vienna Symphonic Library)
And that folks is how flute makers to this day assemble flutes. Some modifications to Boehms model include lighter weight and fancy “cheater” keys for trills and bad fingerings. Now that the flute is at its prime as far as technological innovation, composers have really pumped out works for us given our rich tone and ability to sound like the human voice.
Throughout time, musical instruments have always been played with some part of the body. Whether it is creating vibrations from the lips like brass players do, creating vibrations with different types of objects in their hands like percussionists, or even just physical bowing strings, musical instruments have this physical attribution to it. Even the littlest touch like a piano still has some sense touching something to produce sound. As musicians, we associate people to their body parts and it becomes this cliche click that goes around in the music world. Brass players are going to have big, puffy lips, strings players are going to have calluses on their fingers, or even percussionists may always be tapping something. However what if the instrument does not require any type of physical touch? What if one can produce a sound by just moving their hands? This becomes a new, inventive category and the starting point for electronic musical instruments. In the 1920s, an instrument called the theremin was invented and became a major impact in the world of electronic instruments.
History
The theremin was invented in 1920 by a Russian physicist named Lev Termen or better known as Leon Theremin. He first discovered this by researching the density of gases. He then created a device to measure the density. He put in a meter to reflect the density as well as a whistling device that would change pitch according to the variation of densities. Theremin then discovered that his hands had an effect on the pitch because of the manipulation of the electromagnetic field. He played around with it until he could play a melody with it and told his fellow co-workers. He then went on the complete this project and constructed this instrument. The final product finished with having two antennas, one being placed vertically and the other being placed horizontally, connected to two different circuits. Both these antennas have an electrical field around. By using both hands, the right hand is able to manipulate pitch and while the left hand controls the volume.
Most people probably have heard what a theremin sounds like but they just have not realized it. There are lots of old movies classics like “The Lost Weekend”, “Spellbound”, some science-fiction movies, or even recently a movie called “First Man” that displays the theremin in all sorts of ways. Albert Glinsky, author of Theremin: Ether Music and Espionage, describes it as “this squealing, wailing sound that sometimes goes along with the violins and creates this eerie sound”. In Alfred Hitchcock’s “Spellbound”, the theremin was prevalent throughout the score of the film. In these two examples, the first one of displays the theremin in a very haunting way. The first example starts with this wavy, eerie sound fits this haunting mood of the movie. It fits the complements what is going on in the scene. The second example is the main theme to “Spellbound”. The interesting part about this one is that the theremin starts with the theme. It becomes first melodic sounding instrument one hears when listening to this movie theme. It is then contrasted by these long lines of the strings. This sound just becomes so refreshing to here after knowing what all these typical orchestral instruments sound like.
One of my favorite examples to display this great, unique sound actually comes from the soundtrack of “First Man”. “First Man” a movie that features the life of Neil Armstrong.There is a scene in the movie where he puts on music while in space and that song is called “Lunar Rhapsody”. “Lunar Rhapsody” is from a record called Music Out of the Moon and it features then famous theremin player Dr. Samuel J. Hoffman(who also played in “Spellbound). It was released in April 1947 and it became one of the best selling theremin records. “Lunar Rhapsody” features this “squealing” yet warm sound, soothing sound. The theme is so melodic and it shows off that the theremin is more than this sound effect.
In the end, what makes an instrument an instrument is the sound it can produce. It does not matter whether it is as physical like a drum set player or technical like a harp player. The theremin requires no physical touch and has been on many soundtracks or studio records that have been a profound impact on music culture. In today music world, Moog produces theremins that are well more advanced than the old ones and has become one of their best-selling instruments. It is interesting to see that it all started with project in a lab and it transformed to one of the most unique instruments today.
It seems that western classical music performers’ pursuits in instrumental sound has always been bit of a paradox. On the one hand, one seeks for an “impossible perfection” of the timbre: players try to work against the physical limitations of the instrument in order to attain flawless sound. No matter how “natural” and “relaxed” one is taught to be, producing a purer sound is always the more important task, and that often results in greater sufferings of the body. On the other hand, many musicians seem to value some occurrences of “imperfection” in music playing. A brief moment of scratch tone, a slipped-aside pitch, or maybe just some unexpected errors of rhythms, can sometimes become the most expressive moment in a performance. Very often, one would even intentionally “distort” the sound, so that a more dramatic effect could be achieved.
But why would that be? What makes a sound expressive? Composers in the 20th Century are intrigued by the reasoning behind these ideas, and they have proposed numerous theories on how the most minute details of a sound changes everything in a performance.
During his lecture on electronic music in 1972, Karlheinz Stockhausen proposed the idea that compressing and stretching the duration of a sound would completely change the listener’s perception of it. Every piece of music can be a distinct timbre, and every brief sound can be a piece of music. This theory regards all sounds as highly complex compounds of information and structure, hence expectedly resonates with the idea that a single molecule is loaded with infinite contents. Indeed, the nature never ceases to overwhelm us with its sheer amount of details, and it is from different combinations of these details can we recognize an object’s quality. If one regards a sound as an object in the auditory realm, one can see what the sound consists of through deconstruction.
However, how does one utilize this idea in music composition? How can one find directions within the vast ocean of sounds which in reality last a single second? The answers are infinite. The micro-structure of a sound is a world of its own, we can of course explore as much as we want in it just the same as in our universe. Here is an example of complex sonic details created by new ways of using materials in a performance.
Australian composer Liza Lim uses a unique kind of bow in her cello solo piece Invisibility. The hair is wrapped around the stick of the bow; and, in Liza Lim’s words, “the stop/start structure of the serrated bow adds an uneven granular layer of articulation over every sound.” In her mind, this special bow enables the sound to outline the movement of the player, simultaneously outputting the “grains” and the “fluid”, thus providing new expressive possibilities in the relationship between the instrument and the player. Arguably, it is the instability and randomness in such grains that evokes the sense of body movement.
Helped by development of a new type of technology—granular synthesis—in the 20th century, composers were able to find the grains of sound for the first time, and that created a whole world of sonic expression completely unheard before. Arguably, many composers’ use of grain layer in the sound stems from the aesthetics inspired by this new found sonic granulation technique.
Demonstration of a simple process of granular synthesis. (source link)
The basic concept of granular synthesis is to create a special playback system which splits a sound sample into hundreds of thousands of small “grains”, providing the possibility of microscopic manipulations such as stretching and transposing. Greek-French composer Iannis Xenakis was the first to introduce the use of this concept in musical composition. In his piece Analogique A-B, he physically cuts the tape recordings into extremely small segments and rearranges them when sticking together. It was a tremendous amount of work without the help of computer, and the experiment one could operate is very limited.
It was not until 1990 when Canadian composer Barry Truax fully implemented the real-time processing of granular synthesis in his piece Riverrun, where he applied a computer program that allows immediate playback in the middle of a sample when changing the configurations of the synthesis. Now one can experiment very efficiently with all kinds of granulations of sound, and in real-time transition from one kind to another gradually in order to create difference in fluctuation as a musical parameter. With this advanced granulation system, one can truly combine the mentioned ideas proposed by Stockhausen and Lim: the sense of physical movement achieved by stretching and exposing the details of sound, that is the sonic particles, the complexity of grains. Below is a piece called “Bamboo, Silk and Stone” by Truax for Koto and electronics.
In the piece, the player performs the initial material for granulation, and the tape would then answer it with the granulated sound, and so on so forth. Source materials from bells alike are also added in the piece, along with the granulation of those sounds. From the processed sound of the electronics, we can see that Truax uses granulation to segregate each attack from the Koto sound, making it into a fast group of identical “clouds” of sound that has a ghostly quality. We can also hear airy sound with rapid pulses which derives from sound of the vessel flute Xun. Such transformation produces the effect that as if the sound is physically constructing and deconstructing itself. The reason one might have such impression is that, in the process of stretching and magnifying the small grains of sound, the characteristics of that sound is still perceivable. Therefore, we can say that, through microscopic manipulations, we can treat sounds fully as physical objects and make them flexible to distortion without losing their own identities.
Working with the vast details and finding the physicality in sound has not only given birth to new forms of electronic music and compositional inspirations, but also provided new insights into performance practices.
In his essay “The Grain of the Voice”, French philosopher Roland Barthes examines and compares the quality of two singers’ voices (Panzera and Fischer-Dieskau) and explains why he finds one of them (Panzera, who has a very distinctive bright voice and carries out peculiar interpretations) superior. One of his conclusion is that the physicality—the bodily communication—of speaking a language is shown through the grains of sound, and such physicality expresses without limitation of linguistic laws. He calls this kind of singing a “genosong”.
Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau
Charles Panzera
Now going back to another technical detail in granular synthesis: the use of randomization is very important when one granulates a sound, because this intended unevenness of grain positions would improve the effect, especially of stretched sound. Inspired by the concept of this technology, percussionist Tim Feeney writes that his drum roll is pretty much like a “hand-made granular synthesis”. Each attack is a single grain, and their positions in time and on the drum skin are partially the basic configurations of a synthesis. More importantly he writes that, when he has rolled for a long time and experienced lack of strength, occasional technical failures of rolling in reality brings out the equivalence of a randomization function in the granular process, and that provides a variety of new effects.
If one views the function of granular synthesis as a whole, one would find that the process is still very much like the mentioned paradox in traditional instrument playing. One operates fine control of a sound, and at the same time adds a layer of randomness to it. It seems that human never really left this duality: the “imperfect perfection”. It is then natural to see that, composers in the 21st Century have been trying to combine the technology and the traditional practices together, so as to maximize expressiveness. Live granulation is now available through a faster operation system on computers, and performers can now hear the sound of their instrument being granulated instantly as they are playing. Using the power of granulation, computer live processing is now able to “amplify” human’s physical actions, to transform the sound of the instrument and to expand its musical vocabulary.
Barthes writes that “the ‘grain’ is the body in the voice as it sings, the hand as it writes, the limb as it performs”. It is possible that, after music has been through all these advancement of technologies, people still tend to value behaviors of themselves the most. In the future, with this focus on physical movements, one potential evolution of music would be the merging of relationships between the composers, the performers and the audiences. Technologies would allow the sound in music to be changed by the listener’s behaviors. Overall, art can be regarded as organized expressive human behaviors. The beginning gesture of a piece, the initial splashing of color on the canvas…all points to the motion of the flesh which, although being the most primal and ritualistic, signifies a cry of our existence.
–Yan Yue
Sources:
Roads, Curtis. “Introduction to Granular Synthesis.” Computer Music Journal 12, no. 2 (1988): 11-13. doi:10.2307/3679937.
https://www.granularsynthesis.com/
Barthes, Roland, and Stephen Heath. 1977. Image, music, text. London: Fontana Press.
Feeney, Tim. “Weakness, Ambience and Irrelevance: Failure as a Method for Acoustic Variety.” Leonardo Music Journal 22 (2012): 53-54.
Electricity in Organs is one of the most innovative technologies to ever happen to organists in the modern day. It allows the organist many opportunities for improvement in both the ability to practice and in the ability to perform.
There are a few terms that the reader should know. An organ’s ”bellows” are similar to that of a bellow with which you would fan a flame in a fireplace. These bellows produce wind to follow through the wind trunks, which are pipes for the air to go through, to arrive at the pipes to produce the sound we hear. The next term is ”stops” which are the individual sounds that can be combined to make the ”normal” sound of an organ. The keyboards of an organ have a ”pluck” which is a slight resistance in the movement of the key from the normal position to the depressed position. This resistance is the opening of a passageway that the air follows to reach the intended pipe to make the harmony or melodic line desired.
Diagram of organ bellow and its route to the pipes
Before electricity’s use in organs, an organist would practice by use of one of 2 methods. First is hiring a person or two (or as required) to pump the bellows of the organ to supply wind for the pipes to speak/make a sound. This method of practice was not the most desirable as you would have to pay the so-called, bellow treader(s) to pump the bellows and also as a result of practicing in the Church during this time, the organist would have to work in a cold environment or pay for some system of heating in the building. The other style of practice was to use an instrument that did not require winding, such as a harpsichord or clavichord, or could supply wind of its own, such as a harmonium. This style of practicing was better for two reasons; it did not require the hiring of bellow treaders and also would not require additional heating beyond what the home’s normal livable temperature would have been.
Pedal Clavichord
While these two styles of practicing allowed for excellent music making during that time and a way for the organist to develop his/her technique, both had their disadvantages: the cost of practice time or not hearing the intended instrument’s sound. With the use of electricity in organs, Organists are now allowed to practice without the aid of bellow treaders by application of electric blowers/heavy duty fans or missing out on the sounds of the organ on which they intend to play.
Just as important is the use of electricity to recall combinations of stops at any point in time to accomplish a specific sound to assist the expression of the music and the organist. The sounds can be anything the organist desires to hear in regards to pitch level and dynamics. Olivier Messiaen used this feature of organs to employ intriguing and distinct colors in his pieces that would have been near impossible to accomplish on an organ that did not have electricity to execute these drastic and pertinent sound changes.
Changes of sound could not be as drastic without the aid of electricity
In addition to these improvements with electricity, because of this advancement there allowed enablement of a higher technical facility for organists. The development of direct electric action was the cause of the progress. This action allowed for ease of overcoming the pluck of the palette, allowing the pipe to speak. With this available ease, there was an increase in virtuoso writing for the organ. The ability of the organist before this technology was stunted as the key pressure would have to be overcome with more weight and would, therefore, slow the speed at which organists would tend to play because of physical limitations of the instrument.
His most important points, for our purposes,
are as follows:
Things by themselves simply are—they do not need to serve any purpose
(a tree simply is)
Technology is the imposition—the
forcing-on—of purpose on things
(technology imposes purposes on a tree—as part of a shelter, or the handle of
an axe, etc.)
Technology is therefore a
violation of the freedom of things,
which prevents us from appreciating them in-and-of-themselves (we view the tree
as a means to end; this perspective degrades
our experience of the tree)
Before recording
devices, free sonic beings in-and-of-themselves did not appear in formal concert
settings. All music-making, pre-phonograph, necessitated a technological
manipulation of an object outside of
its natural context. The bone flute, perhaps the most technologically
“primitive” of all instruments, is still relatively technological in its
appropriation of the bone—which doesn’t seem remotely musical by itself—as an
end to musical sound. Or, from another point of view, sonic experiences, pre-phonograph,
were marked by a clear partition between outdoor and indoor sounds: there was
the natural world itself (the world of free sounds) and the technological world
of the concert hall.
The idea of found sound, then, should be absolutely revolutionary—at least from a Heideggerian point of view. Found sound—the use of recorded, so-called “non-musical” sounds in an “indoor” setting—is perhaps the very first instance of a sonic-being appreciated in-and-of-itself in a concert hall milieu. Its history, therefore, outlines a story of ethics, framed around changing conceptions of the role of the “unadulterated” sound. We will attempt to dissect this narrative in four seminal works of electronic music.
1. Pierre Schaeffer: Étude de Bruits
Found sound entangles itself with philosophy; it is not surprising, then, that is has been subject to much very polemical writing. The first major works of found sound composition, musique concrète (music made by manipulating recorded sound) were entrenched in the typically heated debate of the post-1945 (postwar) generation of composers, many of them heavily invested in creating a new kind of electronic art distinct from the burdened music of the past (for a more detailed discussion of that and the following, see chapter 1 in Joanna Demers’s Listening Through the Noise: The Aesthetics of Experimental Electronic Music).
Most
discussions of electronic music in general (including this one) begin with musique concrète, but that umbrella term
encompassed at least two very different perspectives to found sound. Indeed, Pierre
Schaeffer, who almost single-handedly invented musique concrete in his Paris Studio in the 40s, wrote music of
constantly evolving characteristics—not least as a result of the technological
limitations of his times, and these divergent approaches, although not by
themselves always philosophically grounded, positioned found sound radically
differently in relation to Heidegger’s notion of being-in-and-of-itself.
This first and earliest work of musique concrète, Étude de Bruits, was composed on a shellac record disk, such that techniques nowadays considered commonplace—transposition, looping, filtering—were manipulated excruciatingly by hand. The limits of this “primitive” technology can be heard in the piece. This piece contradicts, for better or worse, the ideals developed in Schaeffer’s later philosophical writings (which I will discuss shortly): this is a kind of musique concrète where sound sources are easily identified—and indeed come with whole packages of connotations.
What
might Heidegger have thought of these musicalized trains and sauce pans? His
questions may have revolved around the intended affect of such a piece: it is a
settled fact that the first étude recalls a running train, but to what end? My
personal impression of the piece is primarily of a filmic experience. There is
a sense in which the grainy audio recalls a likewise visually grainy old
black-and-white film, populated by the objects suggested in the music.
Is this an experience of sound as a
being-in-and-of-itself? It is rather easy to suggest that Schaeffer fails to achieve
this kind of experience because the recorded sound becomes a technological
means—and therefore an unfree being—of evoking a filmic quasi-narrative. And
yet, on a certain plane, this kind of filmic sound already suggests a lesser
degree of technological manipulation than instrumental music. Traditional
instrumental music subsumes the identity of the object within its sound, such
that when we hear, say, a violin, we do not hear it as a sound stemming from an
object but as a sound, to which the object is subservient. These Études are, to my ears, something
different: no such hierarchy exists between the train and its sounds.
2: Pierre Schaeffer: Étude aux objets
Schaeffer eventually published his musico-philosophical musings in several writings. Many of his ideas are summarized in Demers’s book—Schaeffer turns his back on the filmic sounds of Bruits, the failures of which he blames on the technological limitations of the 1940s. With the invention of the more versatile tape recorder, Schaeffer experienced a degree of artistic freedom which enabled him to experiment with “emancipated” sound, much inspired by Husserl’s phenomenology (as Dostal writes, Heidegger’s work is based on the framework of Husserl’s thought). As Demers writes, Schaeffer attempts to create a free sound-being “through the removal of visual cues” and “through the intentional disregard of the perceived sources and origins of a sound.”
What this sounds like in Étude aux objects is a rather complex
collage of sounds—sounds of obviously physical/natural emanation, but of
imprecise origin and context. This, for Schaeffer, was a liberated sound-being.
Schaeffer is in part addressing his own Études aux bruits and that technologization
of sound, in which sounds become mnemonics, markers for objects: in this new musique concrète, Schaeffer advocates a
kind of music which leads us to, one, hear the sound as being real, and, two,
hear the sound as having interest in and of itself. Sounds must be heard as beings distinct from visual entities.
Demers’s book captures some of the polemic that surrounded this claim. While Schaeffer’s ideas—on paper—seem to suggest a true “autonomous” and free sound being, Demers notes that composers, especially of the younger generation (the infamously argumentative young Pierre Boulez perhaps leading the charge), had doubts about a sound’s ability to separate itself from an outside context without being turned into an instrument (which would eliminate its philosophically vital distinction from instrumental music).
Such complaints are clearly heard in the music. Listening to Études aux objets, one is compelled to guess the origins of the sounds, and it is difficult to hear the piece without feeling that there are two contradictory layers of organization—as Lévi-Strauss notes: one, the implied contexts and worldly emanations of the sounds, the implications of which suggest a network of relationships, and two, the actual organizing principles of the music. For instance, a sound similar to a car horn followed by a crumpling or crashing sound automatically suggest their own narrative, such that this sequence interferes with a more abstract, composed structure.
I have mixed feelings, however, about
the value of such objections to Schaeffer’s thought. Heidegger’s thought is
centered around the idea that our understanding of the world must be unlearned:
likewise, is it not possible to unlearn our mnemonic understanding of sound?
3: Karlheinz Stockhausen: Kontakte
Supposing that Boulez et al. had touched on truth in their rejection of Schaeffer’s “autonomous” sound-being, it may be the case that a truly freed sound must speak of itself. Citing Stockhausen’s Kontakte as an example of found sound is a bit of a stretch, since the sounds are entirely synthesized—made from scratch—from basic wave generators, but my thinking here is that, in Stockhausen, the attempted autonomous sound-being is sound itself, detached from any specific context. In The Concept of Unity in Electronic Music, Stockhausen illuminates how works like Kontakte stem structurally from acoustic principles. One particularly spectacular instance is a long and dramatic glissando (which Stockhausen draws out in the air rather spectacularly in a 1970s lecture here) which illustrates how a single pitch can be lowered until it is a series of attacks—illustrating that timbre/pitch and rhythm exist on the same continuum. Like in some modernist architecture, in which light is not used merely to illuminate spaces but to be savored on its own as an independent architectural entity, sound here is not merely a material for music, but the driving force behind the music itself.
Ando: Church of Light (full-scale reproduction) (image from Dezeen)
4: Hildegard Westerkamp: Talking Rain
One of the criticisms of Schaeffer’s earliest works is, as mentioned above, the apparent mnemonic quality of sound imposed by found sounds of obvious origin. One can reject found sound’s context—as Schaeffer—or disregard found sound entirely—as Stockhausen—but it is indeed also possible to go the opposite direction and embrace the context of found sounds as the primary element of musical organization. Soundscape composition, often described as acoustic ecology – a school of electronic music first written about extensively by Canadian R. Murray Schafer (no relation to the French Schaeffer), is such a musical movement.
Soundscape composer Gordon Hempton with a binaural microphone (image from KNKX)
As Demers writes, soundscape composers recognize that sounds are inexorably linked to an environmental context. Whole sections of pieces consist of field recordings of what one might call ambient sounds, often with the intent of preserving the unique soundscape of a locale, be it an inhabited or pristinely natural one. Such recordings are often achieved with binaural recording systems, replicating a listener’s experience of the sound with maximal precision. In a sense, soundscape composition is a kind of virtual travel for the ears alone. In addition to being “unadulterated” sound in a literal sense, the idea of soundscape can also be seen as Heideggerian in that it recognizes that the very definition of being implies being part of an environment, what Heidegger calls facticity. Yet, this claim can be problematic. In Talking Rain we have a sequence of environmental milieus, not an actual field recording that runs for 15 minutes. One can argue that the milieus are extracted and technologized to serve the structure of the piece: the recordings lose their freedom in the context of a larger musical structure. On the other hand, I would argue that each soundscape is sufficiently immersive on its own to become autonomous, but ultimately this relies on a specific mode of listening.
Indeed, as with all previous attempts to liberate sound from technology, what is perhaps most important is the perspective of the listener. It is the listener who imposes purpose, but it is also the listener who frees sound by the act of listening.
