Etude on F. 113, Torino J.II.9 ('Pymalion qui moult subtilz estoit')

This etude is a study in that the ballade, 'Pymalion qui moult subtilz estoit,' (F. 113 of Torino J.II.9) serves as a source for the pitch and rhythmic material, but also in that it is a study in the project of adoption, in the thorough engagement with the exquisite foreignness of the past. The text recounts the tale of Pygmalion the sculptor, averse to women, whose consuming love for his own statue leads to the intercession of Aphrodite, and the statue's transformation from idealized female form to flesh and life. The Cypriot source of the Torino codex places the character of Pygmalion in an intriguing political and historical frame, as Pygmalion is most often presented as a king of Cyprus– the situation of Nicosia as a crusader state on the interface between Christendom and Islam draws intriguing connection between political and socio-cultural transformation of the island of Cyprus, the biophysical transformation of the statue, and psychological and emotional transformation of Pygmalion himself. In this etude, the original musical work is sometimes presented relatively directly, sometimes refracted through the compositional concerns of the early 21st century– the relationship between derived work and the original metaphorically mapping both the loss and accrual of significance through time as well as the sculptural working of the titular artist-king.

To compose is always to speak with the dead, but further, it is to dance with them, to embrace the past as immediate, even if it is remote. F. 113 is transported in time, gaining and loosing distinct fidelities. It is the same as it ever was, and yet it is as it has never been. Stone is carved and wears; clay is spun and shatters – A friend suggests that the first time around, we worked in clay and stone, and this time we work in light, light fixed and transfixed in copper and glass, sand that was once the beach of Pygmalion's Cyprus, of Lusignan Nicosia. For music in this age of light, the invitation to dance must come from us – the dead await and welcome, but only come when called – they have learned not to speak first. If our aspiration is a sublime recapitulation we will always be disappointed. Our dialogue with history is always precisely that, a dialogue, a conversation which moves both partners to places unplanned. Like Pygmalion, the transformation is double– the statue comes to life, but Pygmalion's relations to others are also transformed. We transform what we adopt, and are transformed in the process. The difficulty is loving the source, the transformed and the process, to adopt and not to merely borrow.

Or, perhaps more simply, imagine this: a reed brushes against a potter's wheel in the kingdom of Nicosia in the early part of the 15th century, its vibrations translating the sound waves of musicians in the next room into grooves and valley on the surface of a rotating pot. Half a millennium later another miracle, more technical perhaps, allows the reconstitution of those patterns into sound. Tonight we hear such a doubly miraculous retransmission, not with the flaws and degradations of an imperfect recording, but with the amendments of history and all its generative imperfections.

On my Concerto Grosso

 
"The Concerto Grosso continues and expands an inquiry into the nature of musical time which has been on going in my work for several years. In particular I am interested in exploring how musicians negotiate and re-negotiate the basic building blocks of rhythm: pulse, beat, meter and tempo. The notation of the work gives the performers and conductor many choices in the timing of passages, the alignment of events, and the order of phrases. Performers are thus involved in musical decision making generally more associated with composition than performance. This open approach to notation has no generally agreed upon label. It has variously been termed indeterminate (a bit inelegant and imprecise), open (which carries associations from the literary studies and art theory that are not germane), and aleatory (which emphasizes chance without speaking to the ways in which order in the work comes into being). Given these difficulties, I suggest the use of the term 'tychism' as a somewhat antique but highly appropriate term. Tychism is a concept developed by C.S. Peirce to describe the emergence order from chance events. It was appropriated into the first debates around Darwinian evolution, but in its original form the usage was much more general and ontological, a way of understanding the universe at fundamental levels. Peirce's friend and colleague William James perhaps articulated his friend's idea more succinctly, calling tychism "Peirce's suggestion [that] order results from chance-coming."

"In this work in particular, I am interested in how groups of musicians work in consort to bring musical time into being. Drawing on the historical models of the concerto grosso, the work delineates several distinct groupings of performers– the concertino (the collection of soloists), the ripieno (the supporting string ensemble) and the conductor (the point of interface for these groupings). In the first movement, the soloists are presented in turn, playing rhythmically active material against (generally) open and un-pulsed music in the strings. Through much of this movement, there is no shared pulse at all, with the soloists and ripieno moving freely with rough alignment managed by the conductor directly, rather than pulse. In the second movement, a stronger sense of meter emerges, though often the concertino and ripieno do not agree on a core pulse and often run parallel, producing blurry textures which snap back into focus when the two ensembles move back into agreement.

Note on 'Occurrences'

A Recording of Occurrence II

A Recording of Occurrence III

A score of the work, with a User's Manual, can be found here:
Occurrences Score

The Occurrences, like much of my music, asks performers and audiences to interrogate the conditions of the production of musical time, the nature of the basic building blocks of rhythm: pulse, meter, beat. My music could be described as 'indeterminate,' a rather inelegant term of our art, a negative definition which has the positive attribute of calling attention to the fact that that not all elements of a given work (ie: the tradition 'composerly' features like notes, and the rhythmic disposition of the notes) are as fixed as one generally finds in concert music. Some of these features will be left open to the decisions of musicians in the moment of performance. 'Open' would seem a more attractive term, though its use in literary theory would emphasize the impact of these structures on the 'meaning' of the work, which is not really the focus of the techniques. Similarly, aleatory, used most often to describe the works of Cage, brings in the notion of chance and emphasizes a lack of human agency, when the gesture of the technics are actually exactly the opposite, a surfeit of agency. 'Improvisation', though it captures the character of real time decision making, tends to minimized the channelling of decision-making through very precise and detailed techniques of notation. Given the difficulties with terms (aleatory, improvisation, etc), all fine terms already doing good work in the musical discourse, I suggest the use of the term 'tychism' as a somewhat antique but highly appropriate term. Tychism is a concept developed by C.S. Peirce to describe the emergence order from chance events. It was appropriated into the first debates around Darwinian evolution but it in its original form the usage was much more general and ontological, a way of understanding the universe at fundamental levels. Peirce's friend and colleague William James perhaps articulated his friends idea more succinctly, calling tychism "Peirce's suggestion [that] order results from chance-coming." It should be noted that my point in calling for the usage of this term is not to imply that my work requires a new language for description, but rather that there is a tychastic element to all musical expressions, and that the development of a language to describe them is of use. Occurrences presents the performer with numerous choices in the sequence, repetition and duration of various melodic fragments or 'strophes.' The work is a mobile form in the classic sense– according to rules laid out in the score, the performer chooses the sequence of much of the material, and the duration of specific passages. In several instances material maybe be skipped altogether; in Occurrence III, almost 50% of the notated music will not sound in any particular performance. Within set parameters, the performer shapes the formal and rhetorical organization of the piece at a fundamental level. The Occurrences are also conceptualized as dispersed structures, appearing on a program interspersed among other works. As such, they occupy a space between our categories of ‘movements’ and ‘works.’ All Occurrences share material (in the sense of motivic, intervalic and rhythmic content) and employ similar strategies of notation and organization, and yet are distinct in affect and character. In this work, the traditional role of the composer as provider of order and sequence is transferred in part to the performer, and the composer is more involved in the management of possible successions, and the issues of consistency and discontinuity which open forms present. Occurrences is dedicated to Miranda Cuckson, who commissioned the work.