Counterpoint and context (and modernity and Haraway)

It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything here – aftermath of the PhD I guess. Speaking of which, if you’d like to read my thesis ‘Composing contrapuntal worlds’ you can check it out online here. In any case, I’m going to endeavour to write a bit more now that the chaos of 2017 has mostly subsided. We’ll see if the chaos of 2018 allows me to keep writing these things, I hope so. I hope to also include some more political thoughts on this blog, which mostly disappeared while I was working on my PhD. For now though, I want to return briefly to the idea of counterpoint.

‘Endosymbiosis, tribute to Lynn Margulis’, Shoshanah Dubiner, 2012

Not long after I submitted my thesis, I began to feel that the essence of the concept of counterpoint, as far as I see it, is the conscious dismantling of any absolute distinction between foreground and background, between text and context, etc, and the composition of new worlds of dynamic relations between (and within) the elements produced in this deconstruction (this is not fundamentally different to my PhD, just a different articulation). As such, there is a sense in which counterpoint is the ultimate expression, or means, of modernity in music: all that is solid must melt into air; all that was assumed to be stable must be destabilised and subjected to the force of rational re-composition. It is also clearly dialectical in an old-fashioned way, there is a negative moment (deconstruction of existing assumptions) and a positive moment (composition of new relations), and it’s of course properly dialectical in that both the negative and the positive moments inhere in each other and can’t be separated out (deconstruction happens by construction and vice versa). The principle of counterpoint obviously begins with the deconstruction between principle melody and accompaniment/counter-melody, but in its ambitiousness in the 20th and now 21st Century, it extends all the way to deconstructing and composing any assumed relations of any parameters up to and including the concept of a melody itself, the relation (or assumed non-relation) between heterogeneous cultural-sonic products, the physical space of performance and reception, etc.

What I find fascinating is how this deeply modernist movement squares so well with an ecological one. Reading Donna Haraway’s Staying with the Trouble (upon the advice of my partner Hannah), I’m struck by lines that really sound like notes about a modern counterpoint:

To think-with is to stay with the naturalcultural multispecies trouble on earth. There are no guarantees, no arrow of time, no Law of History or Science or Nature in such struggles. There is only the relentlessly contingent SF worlding of living and dying, of becoming-with and unbecoming-with, of sympoiesis, and so, just possibly, of multispecies flourishing on Earth.

Or again:

A common livable world must be composed, bit by bit, or not at all. What used to be called nature has erupted into ordinary human affairs, and vice versa, in such a way and with such permanence as to change fundamentally means and prospects for going on, including going on at all. Searching for compositionist practices capable of building effective new collectives, Latour argues that we must learn to tell “Gaïa stories.” If that word is too hard, then we can call our narrations “geostories,” in which “all the former props and passive agents have become active without, for that, being part of a giant plot written by some overseeing entity.”

Or even better:

Rather, in polytemporal, polyspatial knottings, holobionts hold together contingently and dynamically, engaging other holobionts in complex patternings. Critters do not precede their relatings; they make each other through semiotic material involution, out of the beings of previous such entanglements.

Most importantly for my idea of counterpoint as a repudiation of compositional assumptions about text and context, figure and background, Haraway savages the idea of the “bounded individual plus context” which she sees as completely insufficient for thinking the depth of relations in which we emerge and operate, particularly in what she calls the ‘chthulucene’.

For all the critiques of Modernity and Progress, this kind of ultra-materialism and dogged insistence on post-foundational thought present in Haraway’s work is indebted to, at least, certain elements of the modernist process of thought. Nothing stands above the complexity of material relations, the stability of entities and concepts is a contingently produced moment in processes of co-development, etc.

The only part that doesn’t seem to sit with the modernist vision is Latour’s point about ‘without being part of a giant plot written by some overseeing entity’—something that Haraway, in her wide-ranging critique of Anthropos, fully endorses.

So while Haraway might agree with the deconstructive dimension of counterpoint, as suggested by Adorno in his article on the subject, the Adornian idea of a fully autonomous composition, and the overall modernist vision whereby increasingly vast areas of production and experience are subordinated to the power of reason, may well be beyond the pale (especially if the teleogy is one of complete aesthetic control of nature, as wonderfully present at the end of Trotsky’s ‘Literature and Revolution’). Haraway may instead argue for a more local, partial constructions and logics of relations. The goal would be ‘speculative fabulations’ in sound of our complex era, training us to feel a post-foundational sonic-emotional landscape, where the human subject (at least as figured in conventional musics) is decentred and brought into a broader construction.

There’s much more to be said about Haraway and implications for music, especially regarding her constant metaphors of writhing, wriggling, contaminating, composting, etc, which is all immensely stimulating. There’s also plenty of critiques to be made, especially regarding the danger that her theory is too close to a ‘small is beautiful’ liberal politics to challenge for hegemony on a broader scale (both artistically and politically). But my takeaway for the moment is that nothing comes from nowhere: compositions are rearticulations of partial spaces (or combinations of spaces) that allow us to feel differently the way the figure of the human relates to figures of what was assumed to be a ‘context’. This is to me still a deeply modernist and dialectical-materialist project, but a thoroughgoing one, and one which also requires a theory of identification and desire, and thus a psychoanalytic dimension, but that’s something for a future post, hopefully.


Some thoughts on recording braneworlds

Getting close to the finishing line for the PhD (submit on March 1), hence I’ve been a little more occupied with writing the dissertation than with writing blog posts. There are, however, a couple remaining posts to write before I submit. The first is about recording braneworlds.

The first thing to say is that because braneworlds is split into four groups each with their own clicktrack, it is very simple to record the work in individual groups and then piece it together. In fact, with the clicktracks all loaded into the music recording software, we could record everybody in the one file so that the compiling was already basically done. In general, groups did not need to hear each other for tuning melodic unisons or matching tones, rhythmic nuance, etc, so there were only occasional sections where different parts were fed into the headphones so that the musicians could hear what was going on in the rest of the recording.

This way of approaching things meant that the recording could be done group by group, region by region, ensuring that we got the best takes and enabling us to have maximum control over the levels of the respective groups and over the eq, spatialisation, etc. It could also lead to a kind of artificial feel, especially in the transition between regions, but that can be corrected in the editing/mixing stages.

Besides, the work has a kind of ‘artificial’ feeling about it anyway, and I don’t feel the recording needs to really attempt to represent at live performance at all, but to give another access point to the identity configurations established in the work. It’s not that the recording is necessarily a more ‘correct’ representation of the work either, since while it is true that many aspects are clearer in the recording, the performance also offers ways into the relationships not offered by the recording (visual associations, unified space, etc). I plan to spend some time in March mucking around with spatialisation, eq, and effects to see how much the relations between the parts can be highlighted in post-production.

But for now, listening to the rough mix that we just put together yesterday with Mark Smith, our sound engineer, there’s a few observations I’d like to make.

Firstly, the piece has a focus and clarity well beyond my earlier works in the folio. My feelings after the performance were a bit mixed. I thought that overall the work was a ‘success’, but that there were numerous sections that didn’t really work. With the extra rehearsal time, the musicians becoming familiar with the piece and the clicktrack, and the benefit of the studio, a lot of the stuff that I thought didn’t quite work (e.g. Regions 12, 13 and 14 in particular) actually work very well. So I’m pretty happy overall with the work. I’m still not 100% convinced of the major-minor triadic sequence that pervades the piece, since such familiar harmonies have a tendency to dominate the musical space, and since the alternative harmonic logic is not sufficiently transferable to other instruments, so it is even less capable of mounting a challenge to the hegemony of the chord sequence. But within the logic of the experimental system that is braneworlds, it works pretty. The chords are kind of funny too; melodramatic in a sort of Hollywood way.

There is some great ‘group polyphonic’ textures in the work, and in fact I wish now that there was more of this. That’s one thing I crave in the work and it never delivers quite enough of it: properly materially dissociated textures. For example, Region 4 has a really strong polyphony between Group I (flute), Group III (clarinet and piano) and Group IV (guitar and cello). Flute 1 plays a really simple, rhythmically stable line of held notes in the upper reg, and the instruments of Group IV play a punchy, lower register unison line of staccato notes, while Group III plays a flowing heterophony. There’s a kind of oblique motion going on too between Group I, which meanders around the high register, and Group IV, which descends from the middle register to the lower register across the section. This is a great moment in the work, but it passes by in 23 seconds.

Likewise the polyphony at Region 5 is really enjoyable. The two groups (II and IV) are both slowing down, but at different tempos and at different rates, and it gives this kind of sea-sick feeling and is constantly forcing the listener to pay attention. I also think Region 12 is much more interesting than I first thought. At this stage, the mix needs to be adjusted, and a little bit of editing as well, but I think the three different groups (I, II, and IV), very registrally distinct, offer a pretty wonderfully confusing rhythmic and textural moment.

One thing to be said about these textures is that much of their material is quite simple. It is just complex enough that the material of each group doesn’t become redundant, but just simple enough that the distinctness of the individual groups doesn’t disappear into a complex and undifferentiated swirl. The registral dimension is also super important to the polyphony of these sections. More of this in the work would be enjoyable… something for future works.

Something that works in the recording is the approach to common gestural shaping between ensembles that I did via my time plots (see this post). After the performance I was worried all that work might have been a waste of time. But with the tighter playing in the recording, these aspects really come out in a number of sections. In particular, Region 5, where the accented upward arpeggios in Group IV connect with stronger attacks in Group II; Region 6, where the metric structures and tempos between Groups I and II are totally different, but where the phrases begin and end at roughly the same point because I worked this out in the time plot; and Region 14, where the piano and flute have clear connecting gestures.

One thing about that is that often what is only a nearly synchronised attack between groups is perceived as a rhythmic unison because it is in such proximity and the brain decides that near enough is good enough. This is a good argument for working with slightly simpler ratios (rather than always prime numbers) in future works, since rhythmic unisons are going to be present anyway in the perceived work, they may as well be written into the work in a more controlled manner.

The one section that still doesn’t work, unfortunately, is Region 15: the flute and drums soli. My guess is that it seems unsuccessful because it is a rupture on the level of the sonic material (this is the first time this entire drum array has been used), and yet it doesn’t really pack the punch (in terms of density and complexity, or, for that matter, simplicity) that a rupture implies. It’s unclear how that could be fixed, but perhaps in future performances of the work I will revise this aspect.

Most of the rest of my criticisms of the work (particularly the fact that it is too sectional) still stand, or are even more obvious, in the recording. However, all in all, it makes for fun listening, and it’s a solid piece to end the PhD project on.

braneworlds reflections, part 2

On the whole, I’m very happy with how braneworlds turned out, especially considering I didn’t have a score for the piece and so couldn’t be sure how everything would sound together. It’s certainly my best constructed and most self-defining piece to date. I won’t go through blow-by-blow about all the minutiae that needs changing, but instead draw some broad brushstrokes about my fairly immediate response from having heard the recording of a rehearsal.

Firstly, the scope of the work. I found the various dimension of the work pretty effective. I feel that the space between the 24-tone series and its microtonal underblown variations and the sequence of major and minor triads was well explored. On first listening, I feel it gave the work a drama and saved it from the danger of a modernist homogeneity of the harmonic plane. I also feel that despite how cinematic and potentially kitch the section where the guitar and piano lock into the chord-sequence could be seen, it is quite compositionally justified (since it is present in a lesser degree in almost all sections) and is not some kind of post-modern ironic gesture.

Similarly the rhythmic stratification was quite effective, I feel. The work had passages of total rhythmic independence between the four groups, passages where one group was pitted against three, and sections where two groups unified against two. I think this ensured that the work pushed itself to imaginative leaps and the textures were often quite novel and rarely felt dull or monotonous.

One thing that could be said is that the work could have done with foregrounding the different tempos a little more. When each group is playing different pitch, registral, and gestural material, and they all have fairly complex rhythms, the fact that they are all playing in different tempos is somewhat less perceptible. Instead it sounds like a lot of difficult new music – an effect that could be achieved with everyone in the same tempo. So a few more Nancarrow-esque moments, where material with a high-level of self-identity (fairly simple and repetitive) is stacked upon itself in different groups and different tempos, would be good in future pieces that try this approach.

One thing I meticulously did in this piece was to make sure almost every possible solo, duo, trio and quartet had a section in the work, and that aspect was planned out in advance. I felt previous works, such as a new day in the desert and Kampflieder, dealt with this very basic aspect of textural density in an inadequate way. While I was worried that braneworlds would be too all over the place with all the different combinations taking a turn, upon listening it doesn’t seem to me to be particularly incoherent, in fact I think it again pushes the work to a more imaginative space and a constant reinvention of itself.

In terms of pacing… In the Kupkacast before the gig, I said I was worried that it would appear that the work is just bashing through 23 different ideas, and in a previous post I said I was worried that the sections weren’t long enough. Firstly, it’s true that in general sections abruptly begin and end, but I’m not actually too worried – I feel there’s enough transitional moments worked in to make it not seem too much like a montage. And secondly, while it’s true the sections could all easily be longer, I feel in the recording that they are sufficiently differentiated in length that it doesn’t sound flat and monotonous. The middle section where the long section of Group II and III transitions into an even longer duet between Group I and the piano contrasts really nicely with the final minute or two, where a sequence of distinct and short sections kind of keep interrupting each other.

Perhaps the elements that might tend towards overkill are balanced out by the strictness of the constraints placed upon the materials of each of the groups. For instance, the piano and clarinet only play notes from a sequence of triads, the guitar and cello only play crescendos and are only ever located in the low register. Perhaps this is what my friend Peter Clark meant when he said after the gig that braneworlds is actually quite restrained.

In general I think the clarity of the textures themselves is pretty well handled. There are passages where the groups blur into each other, and others where they are more stratified. I’ll have to listen to this aspect a little more, and decide how I feel about it, but my feeling listening to this is not so much being in two places at once, but of being in a single incongruent place, a place which feels fractured and requires thinking about how these different things belong in the same place. There are definitely sections (I’m thinking the duo between Group II and III) where timbral, registral, and spatial similarity cancel out the independent rhythmic and harmonic logics, rendering the result somewhat awkward: it feels like a harmonic unity of sorts, and a near gestural unity, but with a lack of unison. I’m not sure if this feeling of ambiguity in the counterpoint of this particular section is such a bad thing in the context of the work, where there are sections of much clearer relationships between parts in the texture. However, it might be made more compelling by aiming for much clearer and more exaggerated dynamic contours in performance, for example. (A similar problem emerges in the flute duo section, which I’ll have to return to to see how to make it have a stronger idea).

In general, probably more could be done to reach extremes of textural stratification. Something to attempt in the next piece of this kind.

There were a couple of compositional elements that were quite fraught. In particular the flute writing, dealing mostly with underblowing from a sequence of quite high quartertones, is problematic. The difficulties are several: 1) the passages are often too fast for the fragile underblown notes to speak properly in time; 2) the fingering sequence itself is a bit clunky and often requires a bit of ‘cheating’ to make work; 3) the underblown notes are often too soft and get lost in the texture; and 4) the dynamics I want for the 4th register stuff is just not possible. All of these have solutions, and I’m already working to change some of these passages, sacrificing pitch for dynamics and speed for sounding result…

One thing that came up as a problem is that the really trilly passages requiring rhythmic accuracy (mostly group III) are difficult to deliver. It seems like either the quality of the trill or the rhythmic accuracy needs to be sacrificed. While it’s not really in need of correcting in this work, it’s something that is worth bearing in mind in the future, because it has an impact on the ability to really deliver lines with clarity.

There were a number of balance issues both within and between groups. Some of these are will be easily resolved through rehearsal, but others are failures of orchestration, and might need a bit of a rethink in the score.

Group II’s property of constantly decrescendoing doesn’t really register aurally as much as it should, and perhaps needs to be made a little more explicit, although it is naturally there regardless, due to the decay of the percussion.

Another element that comes across only very weakly is my attempt at forging gestural interconnections between groups in different tempos. In a previous post I explained how I used graphic read-outs of the waveforms in Logic of the clicktracks to give me a sequence of points where different groups almost have a downbeat together. I tried to highlight these points of the work by dynamic, articulation, or pitch correspondences. So far this has not really come across in the work, instead the micro-level interactions between groups seem largely random and without significance, or with an ambiguity as to whether they are significant. Again this is not bad in principle, but it would be great to be able to control it further. We will have to try to make these moments more prominent in rehearsals, by better articulation and dynamic contour, but for future pieces, having a clearer idea about how micro-level interactions are structured (or not structured) will be important. Having attended Ben Marks’ The Circular Ruins 3 yesterday, it’s entirely possible to not worry at all about micro-level interactions between groups with distinct material, and simply leave them up to chance. But I personally want at least to be able to control this dimension in a work. This would probably require a more nuanced approach to dividing up the time of a section for each group. Whereas in this composition each group divided a section by a different prime number (thus ensuring no points of coincidence at the start of any bars), and similarity on the temporal plane meant arithmetic proximity of tempo (for example, division by 13 is closer to by 11 than to by 23), a future work could explore density of temporal coincidences, where similarity on the temporal plane would meant proportional proximity (for example, division by 6 is closer to division by 18 than to division by 11).

Anyway, there’s probably much more I could think about, and no doubt more will come up as we go to record the piece, but that’s enough for some initial reflections.

braneworlds reflections, part 1

On Friday night, Kupka’s Piano performed my new braneworlds as part of the ‘Tautologies, Transitions, Translations’ concert, alongside wonderful works by Hannah Reardon-Smith, Michael Mathieson-Sandars, Alan Lawrence, and Eric Wubbels. In the interest of gathering my thoughts about this, and documenting the entire creative process (including the reflection-assessment stage) for the PhD, here’s the first of two more or less stream-of-consciousness reflections on rehearsing and performing my piece.


That’s us playing braneworlds at the Judy on Oct 7 (thanks to Kathleen McLeod for the photo).

The first thing to mention I guess is the fact that I played guitar with the ensemble for braneworlds. This is the first time I’ve done this, and the first time I’ve performed ‘new music’ at all, really, having come from a rock and jazz background, and having more or less quit the guitar about 7 years ago when I seriously began composing.

The experience was an interesting and very enjoyable one. It changed my perspective as a composer somewhat. Being less exterior to the work, I felt I was more able to treat the performance as a performance, and less as a score to be represented. In this scenario, the ‘simplest’ parameters of dynamic definition and balance, and cleanliness of entrances and exits of sections, became the most important elements, rather than the pitch and rhythm elements internal to the sections, for example.

Having practiced this piece about four times as much as the others in the group (since their capacity to wing it in this style far outstrips mine), and having played most of the work very well in rehearsals, I nonetheless had the inevitable freakout when I came to perform it. In the first section in which I play, I was distracted worrying about whether the clicktrack for Group III (clarinet and piano) was actually working. This entirely threw me, and I was pretty much all over the place in the first few sections. I likewise was distracted thinking about the balance of the piece later on and heard my count-in wrong in my chordal section, and entered early, which again threw me somewhat… Having said all that, I held up ok in most of the rest of the work, and nailed a couple crucial passages, so not bad for a first go.

So being a composer performing their own music comes with difficulties. One thing that really intensified these was the specific construction of the work and its technological dimension. The fact that there isn’t a score for the work, but only four parts, and the fact that everyone was buried in their own part and clicktrack meant that performers (myself included) had very little awareness during many sections of what was happening around them. This week I’ll be drawing a graphic representation of the whole piece as a kind of ‘study score’, but in retrospect it would have been much better to try to have this available during rehearsals.

Nonetheless, it is an interesting, and I think effective, way to rehearse: only a very vague amount of attention was paid to ensemble coordination, dynamics, balance, etc, during rehearsal itself (though clarinetist Annie Larsen very kindly came to two rehearsals just to give some basic feedback). A recording was made during rehearsal that I later listened to and took notes. I then read out to the ensemble before the following rehearsal, and we tried to then be a little more conscious of those aspects. With more rehearsal for future performances/recordings, I think we will reach a really powerful performance of the work.

I really enjoyed the confidence that the clicktrack lent to the performance. It meant that entrances were (almost) always completely bang on target, and people were able to play with a lot of confidence in some essential aspects of the work, and could therefore stress more about getting their own parts right, and getting more clarity to gestures, etc. We don’t have to worry about who is cueing whom, and we don’t have to have a conductor. (Obviously it also enables a performance in multiple tempos and time signatures as well, and the shifting between temporal stratification and temporal unison across different groups, which is one of the key ideas of the piece.) In the end, for this concert we ran the work about 5 times in total in rehearsal, with a couple of sectionals for each group. That was sufficient for the premiere. With a score of this complexity, without the clicktracks (even if everyone was in the same tempo, and even if there was a conductor), rehearsals would have been much more complicated and time-consuming just to get together basic elements like coordinating entrances, not getting lost, etc.

Obviously this takes out the conversational, ‘chamber music’ aspect of the piece. (Although not entirely. With more rehearsal and comfort with the various parts, and with clicktrack performance, each musician would be a little more freed up to explore the interrelations between parts). A year or two ago, I would have discarded it for this very reason. The kind of Adornian idea, however, that this kind of non-hierarchical chamber music, where the time is controlled collectively and internally to the subject of performance, is somehow more free than a music where the performers are ‘dominated’ by an external technological device, which controls their time (above which stands the authoritarian composer), misses a couple things. Firstly, the clicktrack makes possible musical relations and experiences simply not possible without it, and thus is a vehicle for our aural liberation. Secondly, the collaboration involved in the creation of this kind of music (amongst the musicians, and between the composer and the musicians), is very far from a model of authoritarian structures. In fact, I felt this was the most egalitarian piece I have written, partly because I was also subjected to the performance experience, and partly because it was my most thoroughly prepared piece, with a lot of logistical stuff sorted out in advance.

Creating the clicktrack itself was a time-consuming process. After I had determined the number of pulses and tempo of each group for each ‘region’ of the work (as I’ve described in an earlier post), I created a click-track via midi in Logic for each section at the point of beginning to compose it. I then bounced that and dropped it into the overall click file, which included each group as a separate channel (sometimes I had to time stretch the region slightly to fit its intended length, since the tempo I wrote in the score was sometimes rounded slightly from the value I determined mathematically).

I then bounced each click separately, so there were four independent clicktracks. I had initially thought of having just one computer, which would play a 4-channel file, which would then go through a multi-channel DAI and perhaps into wireless headphones, but the cost was somewhat prohibitive. Fortunately, my friend Vincent Giles in Melbourne provided me with a Max patch that creates a server-client situation so that sending a bang from one computer will start the clicktrack on all four computers. Obviously a network connection needs to be established across the four. I was initially going to go through the Judith Wright Centre’s wifi, but was advised against that by the Judy technician (it just wasn’t reliable enough in his opinion), so I decided to buy my own router and lan cables. This made it very easy in fact, once I had fixed some weird connectivity issues on some laptops. Anyway, once all connected, the laptops just needed some headphone splitters and headphone extension cables so that two people could access each laptop. To make sure that the audience couldn’t hear our click, we got headphones with noise-reducing rubber earbuds, and taped up each of our spare headphone with toilet paper and electrical tape.

Now that I have all the gear, this piece is actually a fairly straightfoward thing to perform, so perhaps we’ll be doing it again soon. The plan is also to record it very soon for Kupka’s very first album… which will be an interesting process unto itself.

Ok, that’s it for this post. In the next post I’ll take up some specific aspects of the composition that I thought were either particularly effective, or are in need of revising…

On experimentation and truth in music

Over the last few weeks I’ve had a number of very interesting artistic experiences, including the Bendigo International Festival of Exploratory Music, the ELISION concert ‘An ocean beyond earth’, and reading Jordan Lacey’s Sonic Ruptures as well as Rebecca Solnitt’s A Book of Migrations. These together have provoked some reflections on musical creation that I’ll try to sketch out here. These is only some early thoughts and make no claim to coherence.

I think the main thing that came out of the BIFEM weekend was that I have something of a renewed interest in the concept of ‘truth’ or ‘truths’, in particular ‘experiential truths’. Being a pretty big fan of the work of Alain Badiou, I’ve for a long time been keen on his idea of truths as creative processes that construct a new order by following a kind of logical progression from an axiomatic point of rupture with the status quo. Musically, however, for a while I have been kind of avoiding this category of truth in favour of novelty and experimentation. In the latter idea, experimentation becomes an end in itself, and the act of experimenting becomes liberating in and of itself. The argument runs something like this: the status quo imposes fairly strict ideas about what music is and could be, stultifying the development of our aural sense and the emotional and intellectual content that goes with it. But by exploring aspects of music that are hidden from or by this status quo, we expand and diversify our experiential world, and that makes us better as human beings, richer, more fulfilled, more open. The benefit of this idea is that it doesn’t require any stark dualism between a false music and a true one: all musics are good, but the greater the diversity of musics experienced, the better for the human individual and their community. ‘New Music’ – in the sense of music that is self-consciously exploratory – simply is a particularly useful vehicle for this diversity of experiences. I recently read Jordan Lacey’s book Sonic Ruptures, and I think his emphasis on the ‘diversification of affect’ is a good expression of this basic idea.

What I began to think though, while at BIFEM, and in particular in the discussion session ‘What’s Your Fetish?’, was that perhaps the idea of ‘truth’ should not be abandoned in favour of this diversity/novelty hypothesis. I began to feel that something was lost if we drop this aspect. Without this idea of truth we can very easily get lost in a ‘fetishisation of materials’ (someone brought up this idea of the fetishisation of materials during the BIFEM discussion, but seemingly only to suggest that we should inject direct political or social content into our music, which I think is a somewhat simplistic solution). Because in essence, the diversification-novelty idea is a purely formal question, and does not deal with the issue of content. Forms are explored as ends in themselves, with the overall horizon being that of human development, which is in any case a purely formal conception by this stage.

This is all quite fine as a defence of new music and diverse music practices (and certainly as a defence of arts funding, since it is acceptable to a liberal discourse), but the thing I began to realise over the BIFEM weekend and the following week is that I feel experimentation should have a telos or aim. Experimentation (as in the sciences) is experimentation for something. You experiment to try to achieve a result. That this result is not fully understood or conceived before the experiment does not change the fact that something is aimed for beyond the experiment itself. Some experimentalists may be so committed to the diversity-novelty idea that there is or should no criteria for judgement of an experiment’s success (which is an admirable perspective, and useful at times, but I think insufficient), but mosts artists will form a judgement about whether something ‘worked’ or not. It is here that the concept of truth needs to be raised, in order that the criteria for judgement of an experiment’s success does not just rest with the order of things as they are.

The concept of truth that I’m toying with here therefore shares something in common with Badiou’s formulation in Logics of Worlds that “there are only bodies and languages, except that there are truths.” There are only criteria of judgement for music based on physiological-psychoacoustic research or based on stylistic norms (and their institutional support), except that there are experiential truths that are not sanctioned or guaranteed by these criteria. As with Badiou, obviously these truths are exceptional and not very frequent.

On the other hand I’m not using the idea of truths quite like Badiou, insofar as I’m currently not considering the truth-procedure aspect, including the evental rupture, trace, fidelity, construction of a subjective body, points, etc. On the other hand, I’m hesitant to say that the idea of truth here is one of representation or revelation, whereby an experiential truth represents in an immediate way a pre-existing, but somehow inexpressible experience, which is of course a common idea of the arts and something like a theory of catharsis. Or, shall I say for now that I think there is this aspect, where a truth is revealed, but at the same time, a truth is constructed and always something new and adds to our experience. It doesn’t just represent or reveal experience, it also creates experience. It changes us as much as it reveals us to ourselves.

I guess what I’m trying to avoid here is thinking a stark division between content and form. Content in this view is not something that pre-exists form, but form viewed from the standpoint of its web of relations (resonances, metaphors) to our experiential lifeworld. (Perhaps this is what Adorno means when he speaks of ‘mimetic comportment’.) Which is also to suggest that this web of relations 1) always already exists, and 2) that it is sufficiently socially stable to have something more than just ‘personal truths’.

Anyway, I don’t know how defensible or interesting all this is philosophically. The point is that, for an artist, experimentation is an activity whose purpose is to try to reveal-create an experience or experiential mode that neither our mere bodily tendencies nor our stylistic constructs can reveal or create. There is therefore something mystical about experiential truths, something beyond what can be rationally conceived or articulated, even if rationality plays a large part in constructing or revealing them. I guess this is the sublime aspect of art. It reminds me of that Rimbaud quote: “I say that one must be a seer, make oneself a seer.” Which is not to say that I think we need to see ‘beyond’ a false reality into a ‘true’ one, perhaps some kind of aesthetic state allows us to experience fully the reality that is already here. “One must be as radical as reality itself”; “the Kingdom of God is the present moment”.

Something like the idea I’m trying to get at is found in David Metzer’s book Musical Modernism at the Turn of the Twenty-First Century, where he talks about ‘compositional modes’. For Metzer, 20th century music is characterised by a number of different ‘lines of enquiry’ into some essential compositional states: purity, the fragment, modern silence, lament, etc. I take these to be experiential truths. Of course the truths are not reducible to these concepts, but the concepts provide the best method to group them and talk about them. I increasingly like this way of looking at things (as long as it plunges into the technical-formal dimension and gets past the merely impressionistic) because it avoids suggesting that there is a ‘stylistic’ element to truth, or talking about musical truth in the singular, or talking about it as entirely negative (truth as that absolute ‘beyond’ of reason). For instance, Liza Lim’s music tends to reveal something about the experiential truth of tangledness, of obscurity of relations, and the occasional burst into clarity, where the clarity becomes conversely just as obscure, even more so, as the dense moments. This is some essential experience of the subject, individual or collective. This was particularly obvious in her recent How Forests Think, premiered by ELISION a few weekends ago at BIFEM. Aaron Cassidy’s The Wreck of Former Boundaries, as with much of his music, was an attempt to get at some kind of truth about experiential intensity, though I’m not quite sure it succeeded.

What’s clear here is that the musical structures reveal-construct truths of broader human experience by way of some formal mimesis. What exactly the dynamic is here is something to think about some more, but increasingly I don’t agree that music only has ‘musical truths’, but that it can only partake of experiential truths – great music somehow links into, as a kind of synecdoche, our whole experiential or affective world.

At the same time, music is not capable of delivering economic or political (or scientific) truths. Music is not a means for ‘consciousness raising’ or agitation, but connecting with the total experiential world conditioned by these economic and political processes. This is always an obscure, irreducible relation.

It is not that music has no role in social change, though. It’s just that its role is through the liberation of human affect through the construction of experiential truths. This is allied, at the horizon, with the attempt to decommodify human relations, and to build a new world. And my argument today is that, since we human beings are ‘amphibious’ (always both universal and particular), no fundamental social transformation will be possible on the back of reason and political struggle alone, but will need a cultural dimension that is true to its own nature.

I guess the last thing to make clear is the experimentation-liberation nexus I raised earlier. My thinking at the moment is to suggest that there is a link between experimentation, liberation, and experiential truths. Experiential truths cannot be constructed without experimentation on materials from a starting point subtracted from, or exterior to, the demands of style and what ‘suits’ our perceptive capacities. Likewise the inverse is the case, without an attempt to manifest some experiential truth, experimentation and material innovation lose their ontological ground.

The main consequence of this shift from the diversity-novelty idea of music to that of the revelation-construction of experiential truths is a switching of ends and means. Whereas in my research over the last year or so I have conceived of counterpoint as a means for exploring new realms of sound and performance (insofar as it allows the ‘thinkability of a world’), now I think that exploring new realms of sound and performance are themselves different means to understanding the experience of simultaneity. I’m trying to find the best way to express what the experiential core of this is. I think it has something to do with the experience of the presence of heterogeneity, where one is forced to ask themselves (not necessarily consciously), “how do both of these things belong?” Obviously it isn’t as simple as just putting two heterogeneous sounds together; one must have an ear for the conflicting experiential resonances of materials and also the understanding of how to explore what the identity of these differences in fact is.

One final point is that music would be one of the few artforms (along with dance, I suppose) that would be capable of presenting this experiential truth. Obviously literature and poetry can describe a state in which there is heterogeneity, but the form itself is diachronic and unilinear (one concept at a time). Painting can present simultaneous heterogeneity, but can’t handle simultaneous motion. Film has a slightly greater capacity, but it is also limited to what action can be on the frame or field of vision at once.

That turned into a very large rant, and perhaps no one has made it this far. But it’s been useful for me in clarifying a few thoughts, so too bad. Hopefully I’ll come back an clarify this a bit more and talk about practical implications soon.