Sonic Revelations, Sonic Revolutions

Pretty much every week since I’ve come to Oberlin has been filled with good music. This week was no different.

On the weekend I listened to DW 2 by Lang while doing my laundry, and subsequently freaked out. The way he utilizes repetition and instrumentation is something awesome; I heard funk, I heard jazz, and I heard classical, all coming from this piece’s pieces of repeated phrases and seemingly random sequences of riffs. I felt like I do when I take samples from a song and loop them infinitely in Acid Pro, the program I’m most used to. But the way Lang moves and progresses past little snippets of a violin here and a cello here and vocals there is really something to behold. I’m really into what this guy does. It’s like DJing with pen and paper and an orchestra; it’s really something else.

Also: “First you put on your shirrrrrrrrt”

Sweet Honey in the Rock also played Sunday, to a pretty packed Finney Chapel. I was really glad to see this group perform, seeing as they’ve been writing and performing since the 70s. It was really a site to behold, with the backdrop of the very recent election of Barack Obama livening up the mood and bringing so much contemporary meaning to the songs they sang. The signer, the traditional African instruments, and the audience participation really made the performance special, adding to the raw talent behind the world-famous a capella group. It was a great start to the week.

Finally, Eighth Blackbird was amazing! I only caught the second half of the show, but I must say, Steve Reich’s “Double Sextet” was incredible. After seeing how the pianists, violinists, cellists and company interacted with each other’s vibrations throughout the piece was really inspiring, and made me want to write pieces in a similar fashion, that go beyond the plane of standard composition, and implement elements of improvisation, performer interaction, and algorithmic sequences.

Altogether, this week was really inspiring for me musically. I can’t wait to get some spare time to work on my own music…

Yeah, the corny backronym? I went there.

But that’s not the point. The point is, this guy is amazing. The way John Luther Adams takes you to another world, it’s as if he went into your brain (through your ears, of course) grabbed your brain, absconded with it to Alaska, and set it free amongst rolling waves of snow-covered hills for what seems like a small eternity.

The only times I remember being taken to a place so visually have been with the music of Louis Armstrong, James Taylor, Bob Marley, or Marvin Gaye. So JLA’s got some good company in his influence on me.

Obviously, as we’ve talked about in class, color is so important in JLA’s works. Adams has a keen sense of color, as if the keys on a piano were a pallete for him to work from, painting with different textures using dissonance, repetition, and a slow type of counterpoint that blend beautifully over the span of 12 or 16 minutes. Going on a walk, taking a journey, exploring these sounds — that’s what it feels like to listen to his pieces. The progression over time is so well orchestrated, I’ve got to hand it to him.

I made my timeline based off of Dream in White on White, which I believe utilizes the aforementioned tools so well.I discovered after the first listen that its structure on a large scale is cyclical; there’s a huge amount of repetition in that entire movements are paralleled by a permutation in the other half of the piece. It’s not completely palindromic, as there are differences in the sections played, but the resemblance is striking. What this does for the piece is give it a certain kind of order that might not necessarily be discovered on a 5-second level, but that’s what’s so great about this piece: Beyond the basic properties of “white notes”, what happens every few seconds is validated exponentially by what gets played in the 5, 10, 50, or 1000 second intervals before and after it. That kind of mathematical composition is something I admire greatly, both in its difficulty to accomplish and its execution. It’s pretty baller.

Sorry I’m late folks, I been sick.

I found that this past week had so much amazing music to talk about, I wasn’t sure where to begin. I could ramble on about everything but Dan Deacon to Gorgoroth to Joanna Newsome to Morton Feldman, but I finally bit the bullet and decided to talk about another one of Ligeti (AKA Gyorgi “No Diggity” Ligeti)’s works, Continuum.

I made my timeline based on the harpsichord (cembalo?) version of the piece, but I’ve listened to all three versions a few times each, and I’ve decided I really like the song in all versions, due to the different timbres, beats, and dynamic ranges of the piano, barrel organ, and cembalo.

My favorite version was in fact the cembolo version, which had more cool spots for me than I think any piece we’ve listened to under 4 minutes. The main ones are at 0:01-0:06, which at first sounds to me like a section of Italian stringed instruments being strummed, Godfather-style, but that’s just coincidence I guess. The next really special cool spot was at 1:16-1:22, which sounded to me like the 16-bit chimes of a Gameboy. 1:55-2:11 was another one of my favorites, with its unavoidable explosiveness and organ-like quality with the base notes reigning for a few permutations in notes. Finally, the ending notes of 2:58-3:11 really caught my ear, not just because of the ungodly hammering of the player’s fingers, but also because of the purity of that high E at the end that stands out so well in ending such a dynamic, epic piece.

Now, I really held back in my assignment of cool spots, because there are so many note additions and chord changes in Continuum that really stood out to me, so I’ll give honorable mention to 0:44-0:49, which I thought was a really nice, clean chord that was going to progress and resolve into another one, but in fact goes in a different direction entirely. While it wasn’t what I expected in the end, I liked where it went. It was unconventional and creative, like the rest of this piece, which I have to say is easily one of my favorites.

I wanted to really get a sense of Feldman after listening to as much of his music as I could, and I did after reading tidbits about his views on music and space.

While Feldman isn’t really considered minimalist by most, I feel like his music has the make-up that I would define as minimalist. After all there’s repetition, linear transitions, and minimal note use.

But the one thing I see as minimalist in Feldman’s work is the use of space as a color on the sonic palette. Pieces of his, most notably “Crippled Symmetry”, seem to slow time down in such a surreal way that allows me to move my mind (in real time) around the entire piece and view it from every angle. Every flute flutter is perfectly positioned in time and space for examination and wonder.

“Piano” had the same sort of effect on me as well, but snuck up on me during the last minutes of abrupt crashes, due to my less-than-genius decision to turn the volume up in my headphones to hear the softer notes. Beyond my own absentmindedness, piano struck me as a true work of art. I couldn’t help but think of modern art while listening, which should be no surprise since Feldman is so much like the sonic equivalent of Rothko or Modrian.

I call him a sly bastard because he had me thinking one thing when I started listening to his pieces (in disbelief usually, at the duration times) and then slowly moving into a different mode where everything starts to make sense. It’s the weave-like patters he creates that really get me. I’m really glad I’ve been introduced to his work.

When I listened to Piano Phase, I noticed a surreal sensation coming over me: it was the same feeling I get when I hear a well orchestrated piece of music, but it was spread out over the 20 minute duration of the song. It amazes me that so much can be said with so little material. Arrangement is everything. In the piece, I heard–from one simple multi-note series, mind you–everything from jazz-style syncopation to powerful classical harmony stylings to Russian-style riffs. All kinds of imagery and texture popped out at me through this piece, despite its suspiciously simplistic approach.

One key thing about this piece (and about most of Reich’s work) that I really appreciate is the sense that every note has value. Not just value in the literal musical sense, but in the sentimental, personal, idealistic sense; from the very start of Piano Phase, and in many other Reich pieces, it’s easy to distinguish small series of notes from each other and evaluate them at an individual level.

Just when things start to get annoying, there’s a shift in when the notes are played, and that makes it so that there’s more to look for and catch your ear, but not in a way that feels arbitrary. There’s a reason for each shift, and it’s inviting to interpretation. The sheer simplicity of it all is something that appeals to me in a way that doesn’t make me belittle it and throw it away, but rather, makes me want to explore it further, beyond face value. Compared to some of Philip Glass’s pieces, I think Reich approaches the minimalist platform in a non-imposing way; he does it in a way that is passive and open, which I feel is the perfect match for a piece like Piano Phase. I feel like every time I listen to it, I’m finding something new in it. And I’m pretty sure that’s what he wanted.

My ears were ringing intensely towards the end of Ratatat’s set last night, as I had been standing in the front row without earplugs since the first two acts, and even though I could barely hear much besides the music blasting in front of me, I was still overjoyed to see the band come back on for an encore, and to hear the easily recognized intro to the band’s most popular song.

The song: “Seventeen Years” — Ratatat – Seventeen Years

In Seventeen Years, as with many other Ratatat songs, one of the key components is the prevelance of harmonies at varying intervals–in Ratatat’s case–on guitars and synthesizers. The melding in and out of these chords is perfected in a way that Ratatat does well; instead of one guitar playing triads and powerchords, the melodic voices of the instruments are arranged so that more than one voice contributes to the harmony. The result is a fluctuating, moving harmonic series that is perfect when layered on top of a firm but dynamic bassline and the multifaceted percussion that the band employs.

After the concert, as I was wringing out my soaked t-shirt and my ears were screaming for dear life, I started thinking about how much I lit up when Ratatat played my favorite songs, and how I had the same reaction while listening to the John Luther Adams piece we experienced Monday night. The sheer power of a siren, when combined with other sirens’ voices, was so energizing, it made my face light up with excitement.

Ratatat’s songs are completely instrumental (excluding their remix discography). “Triadic Iteration Lattices” is also a completely instrumental piece. With that said, it strikes me to hear how vocal the instrumentation in both of these pieces can be. In “Seventeen Years”, the guitars and organ-synth sing to me. They speak all that needs to be said, lyrics not required. In “Triadic Iteration Lattices”, there are moments where the sirens sound like [shrill] human voices as well. To contrast these two, I’d say the main difference is the emotion summoned by either one: Seventeen Years gets me excited and happy. “T.I.L.” gets me excited and scared shitless.

Perhaps this is because the crooning wails of Ratatat’s electric guitar sounds evoke memories of the past, and, due to the jovial arrangement of the song, reminds me of fonder memories. JLA’s siren screams don’t necessarily evoke memories, but rather, they foster a forboding future with negative images of what sirens can mean: a macabre uncertainty that is fueled with images of air raids, tornadoes, and fires that pervade the psyche until the blaring sirens breach the threshold between visual thought processes and true sonic interpretation and perception. It’s when I’m a few minutes into the JLA piece that I start reaching the sonic Nirvana of sorts that Ratatat offers from the get-go.

So, while it takes some warming up to, I can really appreciate the power and beauty of “Triadic Iteration Lattices”, and I’m glad Ratatat played a show around the same time I experienced this piece; otherwise, I might not have noticed the strange similarities between the two.

“Hey, I’m not done with you y–”

I take off my headphones ten minutes into the piece. The droning is draining.

I quickly put them back on as I can still slightly hear the array of oscillators still buzzing through my headphones hanging around my neck, as if the oscillators were dissatisfied with my eagerness to leave them. But I put them back on because I want to find something in this mess of sound waves coursing through my ear canals.

There seems to be so much to be said to me by these drones, yet it is completely up to me whether or not I put my guard down and accept these messages…or, on the kontrary, continue to make them up; after all, it’s just a bunch of humming, right? Right?

I think arguing with myself  is exactly what this piece wants me to do: a way of truly submitting to its incessant, persistant power. What I think the piece might also want me to do is analyze and decipher it into oblivion, until I can grasp some kind of meaning from  it, however artificial that meaning might be.

I don’t know how possible that is for me, but I’d like to try and delve into it as I did for Atmospheres; however, a 25 minute play-by-play assessment is a bit out of line for this one, I think. I will say that it appears that the piece is in a circular, repetitive motion, with the volume and slight tuning changes of individual oscillators keeping things…exciting. Overall, it’s what you make it, because I’m pretty sure there aren’t many original changes in the piece besides a select few that are repeated throughout. That being said, I’m pretty sure I heard someone spitting at 11:13.

I can’t say if I liked this piece or not. I think it’s more or less a blank slate, with slight distinguishable parts, which makes Kontradictionaries somewhat avant-garde, postmodern, or one of those fancy terms I can’t really use with much confidence; basically, I think Kontradictionaries is more like modern art than any of the other pieces, due to its monochromatic characteristics and seemingly uninspired (albeit sparse) dynamics. The only thing I’m sure about in this song (besides uncertainty) is that I won’t ever be dancing to this.

The first substantial chunk of time in the piece runs from the beginning up until about 1:04; it consists of high pitch strings and some ambient chrome-sounding horns. Then, until 1:21, more mid-level strings fade in and out, and organs start coming in with stringent chords. The first full-orchestral crescendo at around 1:25-1:54 encompasses what I feel to be the true beginning of the piece, with a second similar, but different, very harmonious crescendo following thereafter (this is where I saw meadows and monastaries, and felt a majestic presence). The piece then cools down, like the eye of a storm, with string ‘debris’ floating around a space hollowed out by what sounds like a droning organ until around 2:53. Woodwinds lead the next slow charge, wherein high pitch flutes and reeds fill the void as they bounce off of each other. This caucophony ends abruptly with the introduction of loud bass strings at 3:43. It feels like a house fell. Something fell. The stark realizations soon following this catastrophy can be felt as the creeping high strings come back in again, wimpering in a downward spiral until 4:25, when more various-pitch strings join into a whirling crescendo that is silenced immediately at 4:43. Afterwards, the isolated multi-pitch moans of horns and winds strike sparingly until 5:12, when the trombones wail and wail, with other horns joining in, one bass horn idling in and out in an oscillating manner, until the slow end of the crescendo at 5:48, where high-pitch strings and winds enter the stage again, meandering through my aural cavities, harmless but potentially lethal it seems. The piece is almost completely silent at 6:25-6:35, which is ended by a few violins and the ‘wave’ sounds at 6:45. This is followed by the whistling, fluttering sounds of flutes and clarinets and violins from then to 7:00. At this point, the room for aloofness is taken away by the attention-demanding sounds of various quiet winds until 7:50. From then on until 8:08, A very low bass note (I assume a tuba) underscores the slowly crescendoing unidentifiable (by me) “mechanical” sounds that take the last scene from 7:50 on until the end of the piece. The imagery is undeniable. Gloomy, macabre, yet striking.

The “cool spots” I would have identified would probably be the strikingly beautiful aforementioned crescendo at 1:55, and the “waves” moment at 6:45. I know we discussed the latter in class, but I’ll stand by my opinion that the glory I felt at 1:55’s crescendo truly weighted the piece in its background of what a classical sense of beauty can be, tossed into an array of what I’ll admit were at first very awkward-sounding nonharmonious chords in this piece. It grounded me and my sense of self in such a way that the rest of the piece has so much more of an effect on me. It’s brilliant. I love it.

I definitely feel as though there is a certain order to the smooth chaos of Ligeti’s “Lontano”, but it can be difficult to put my finger on exactly. Because string and horn instruments are really prevalent in this piece, it’s easier to meld into than, say, Merzbow. The various voices of these instruments don’t always sync with each other in the way a classical piece would in terms of tradional harmonies, but every thing the individual voices say on their own is valid and pin-point-able; much like a room full of conversations, there is a general sense of buzzing disorder, but it’s composed of voices that on their own are distinguishable and, in the case of “Lontano”, beautiful. I noticed a certain procession of movements, for example, at around 8:20-8:30, where the piece is broken by silence. It’s a bit unsettling as the new movement starts, but it’s also refreshing, as it can be easy to get lost in the brooding sounds of all these voices.This kind of music seems perfect for a horror movie, but the emotion is so deep rooted throughout this piece, I think it would be 2-dimentionalizing [sic] it to put it into such a box; in the first few minutes, I heard meadows and monastaries, waterfalls and Wall Street. Sure, these images didn’t stay for long in my head as the dynamics of the piece changed, but it’s more imagery than I’d find in a simple 4 minute, common time, single-key song, and I dig that.

“Atmospheres”, on the other hand, gets right to the point, with the more startling harmonies already at the beginning, and slowly dying down through the piece. The first time I listened to this piece, I was walking outside as a siren went off, which, needless to say, threw me off quite a bit. But with the way this piece lends itself to the psyche, it’s no surprise I was more anxious about what was going through these headphones than what could have been a pending catastrophic nuclear explosion/ tornado nearby. With that being said, it’s important to note the role suspense plays in this piece, as well as in “Lontano”; the division between the most quaint, beautiful harmony and what sounds like the theme music to some mythical villain can be only one second wide. Personally, I like it. I don’t think I’ve ever heard something that made me think as much as these pieces did. It’s not exactly in-my-tape-deck-on-a-sunday-drive material, but it definitely has value.