Well, now that that’s out of the way, let’s go wandering in the wilderness again and explore another topic in new music: Totalism. While sometimes used in political terms as a synonym for totalitarianism, totalism in music refers to a specific branch of post-minimalist music which developed in the 1990s. Indeed, while I was listening to Pearl Jam (Vs. is by far their best album, don’t try to argue with me) and scouring the local Goodwill for the perfect flannel shirt, a group of young composers in New York were developing their own brand of post-minimalist music.

The “total” in totalism (as noted by Kyle Gann) does not refer to the music itself, but to the intended audience. The driving force behind totalism is pairing an accessible surface (usually through familiar harmonies or rhythmic activity), which the casual listener is able to grasp, with a deeper structural complexity, which reveals itself to the more sophisticated listener. If I may offer a metaphor, consider the ocean. The surface of the ocean, vast and beautiful, is accessible to any viewer. Occasionally, marine life near the surface give glimpses of what is beneath. To the well-equipped, however, there is a depth and complexity which we are only beginning to explore with modern submarines and diving apparatus.

While it’s not an essential trait of the genre, totalist composers often draw on rock and pop music influences. While the surface harmony is often accessible to the casual listener, these pieces are generally more harmonically adventurous than traditional minimalist music.

Now, a few representative examples:

“Sun Dance” from “Custer and Sitting Bull” by Kyle Gann

This excerpt is from Kyle Gann’s musical drama, “Custer and Sitting Bull.” Gann is, among other things, a microtonal composer. In lay terms, this means he uses intervals small than a half step (the smallest on tonal music). This accounts for the “out-of-tune,” disorienting surface harmonies.

Please pardon the self-promotion, but this example, taken from my last recital at MSU, features a piece by totalist composer Joseph Waters. This piece is based on rhythms taken from Cuban Santeria rituals. This piece exhibits and exciting, accessible surface, but is structurally complex in it’s use and development of rhythmic motives. There are often several layers of the same rhythm, played at different tempi.

I wanted to include this piece because Maya Beiser is a bad-ass cellist, and because Michael Gordon is a major player in the totalism scene. Note how the video in the background can represent a metaphor for totalism: a very active surface, but with a complexity that eludes the viewer.

Finally, this beautiful piece by John Luther Adams. The active surface of this piece is provided by the piano and percussion, while the strings and winds play complex, slowly developing harmonies. Many people believe that Adams’ sparse, sprawling textures evoke the barren plains of Alaska where he currently lives and works.

This concludes this foray into the wilderness of totalism. I leave you with a few questions. Which of these pieces did you enjoy? Which did you dislike? Why?

For further reading, checkout this excellent article by Kyle Gann.

Until next time, keep wandering…

- from “The Sound of Silence” by Simon & Garfunkel

In this installment of WitW, I would like to discuss the use of silence as a compositional tool.  I don’t mean short, dramatic uses, such as the GP commonly found in classical music, but significant spans of time devoted to silence for compositional reasons.  To this end, we will explore three distinct approaches to silence by three different 20th/21st centuryAmerican composers.  Any discussion of silence as a compositional device, of course must begin with John Cage’s 4′33″.

4′33″ is the infamous piece of silent music, whose entire score consists of three movements of indeterminate length, each marked “tacet” (the movements are traditionally, but not necessarily, marked off by the performer in some way).  For Cage, any sound was music.  He is quoted as saying that he would rather listen to the sounds of traffic than to the symphonies of Beethoven (I’m paraphrasing from memory, although I’m pretty sure that’s the essence of it).    4′33”, therefore, is a framing device.  It sets a certain boundary, and says, “anything within this boundary is art, pay attention to it.” Consider the following images:

"Fountain" by Marcel Duchamp

Some urinals

Both images are of urinals.  The first, however, is found in an art gallery, while the second image is from a public restroom.  While both objects are essentially similar, the context, or the framing, of these objects significantly impacts the way we think about these objects.  With the first, we may think of questions like “Is this really art?” or “If I pee in this, where would the pee go?” or “Would I get arrested if I tried to pee in it?” or “Why did I let Ty drag me to this modern art museum?” With the second, this is a context in which we (at least those of us who are male) are used to encountering urinals, and little thought is given to them (with the exception of special rules which apply to public urinals). Anyways, back to John Cage.  The brilliance of 4′33″ as a framing device is that any sounds that arise during these boundaries are unintentional, the sounds that are normally blocked out or ignored during “normal” performances.  It provides a new context for listeners to consider sounds which would normally be dismissed.

While a recording of 4′33″ is not necessary (one only needs a stopwatch to perform the piece in the comforts of one’s own home), I couldn’t resist linking to this performance, which I find particularly compelling.

Another interesting use of silence is found in the music of Morton Feldman.  Feldman once said that the most beautiful thing a sound ever does is decay.  In his works, the textures are often very sparse, so that you can appreciate the sound in its entirety, decay and all.  Feldman’s counterpart in the visual art world is Mark Rothko, who uses simple designs to invite the viewer to appreciate the subtleties of color and texture in the works. For an example of Feldman’s use of silence, check out this recording of “The King of Denmark” for solo percussionist:

denmark

In “The king of Denmark,” the sparse textures isolate individual sounds and allow the listener to appreciate their qualities more fully than they might in a more dense musical situation.

The final composer I will discuss in this post is Thomas DeLio.  In addition to being an influential composer, DeLio is also one of the foremost scholars in contemporary music, with a special interest in the music of Morton Feldman, John Cage, and Iannis Xenakis.  The most striking characteristic of DeLio’s music is his use of long periods of silence.  In a few of his pieces, the total duration of the silences is greater than the total duration of the musical material.  The reason for this is that DeLio approaches silences functionally in a way that is fundamentally different from that of Cage or Feldman.  For Cage, silence was a framing device to invite the unintended; for Feldman, it was a blank canvas on which individual sound colors are accented.  DeLio’s use, however, is to frustrate the listener’s memory.  The natural tendency of listeners is to process sounds by putting them in the context of sounds which proceed and follow them.  This is a natural process, and most music relies on this contextualization to create coherent musical ideas.  DeLio, however, attempts to isolate musical material by use of silences, so that each sound or gesture can be appreciated individually.  The listener hears a gesture, followed by a long span of silence, and by the time the next gesture occurs, the listener has forgotton what the preceding gesture had sounded like.  This music can seem strange and even unsettling to the casual listener; such long spans of silence are very uncommon in music, and create a certain amount of tension between the audience and performer.  To give you an example of DeLio’s music, here is a performance of this author performing DeLio’s wave/s for solo percussionist:

wave/s

This concludes my look at three different composers and how they use silence in unique ways.  I hope you have found this interesting and that it gives you another point of view as you approach contemporary music.  See you next time, when we’ll explore…something.  I don’t have a topic picked out, and I am open to suggestions. Peace.

Over the next few weeks, I am going to be releasing videos of my recital onto Youtube, one video at a time, once a week, until I am out of videos.  My reasoning is that anytime someone I like posts six or seven new videos, I watch two or three before my ADD kicks in and I am drawn to some gem in the “related videos” window, and soon my whole afternoon has disappeared.  This approach hopefully avoids some of that, by only asking the viewers to give me 10 mins. of time per week to check out my videos.  I’m not sure if it will work, or how I would even know if it does work, but I think it’s worth a try.

Now, time to catch up those of you in the Guidoverse (Dave – I’m copywriting the word “Guidoverse.” Bam. That just happened.).  I actually started this project last week, and intended to post something about it here, but for various reasons, not the least of which being the setting in of summer laziness, I am only now getting to it.  I also really wanted to get to it yesterday so I could squeeze “youtubesday” into this post, but an unforeseen personal event (read: impromtu round of frisbee golf) prevented me from doing so.   Regardless, I posted my second video today, so there are now two videos for you to check out.   With no further ado, Recital video #1!:

Flame Head for percussion and electronics by Joseph Waters

Most of the rhythmic material in Flame Head is derived from Haitian ritual drumming.  Like many Afro-Caribbean styles, Haitian drumming often uses ambiguous patterns which can be heard simultaneously in either 6/8 or 3/4 time signatures.  The version in this video is for fixed audio on an mp3 track, but another version exists which uses a second performer who triggers samples in real time.  I am hoping to perform this version sometime in the near future.

Recital Video #2:

Improvisado for solo marimba by José Luis Maúrtua

This is a piece I comissioned from Dr. Maúrtua with funding from the College of Music and the Graduate School at Michigan State University. This composition is based on Afro-Caribbean and South American dance rhythms.  Overall, it is in a large scale ABA form, with the outer movements sharing a similar character and tempo.  This form is reflected at a smaller level in the individual movements, which feature an exposition/digression/recapitulation form.

That’s all for now.  Stay tuned for new blog posts.

(updated 5/3/09: fixed link to second video)

Now that my recital is over, my focus has shifted to passing my classes, but I also hope to do some more blogging, including the second installment of “Wandering in the Wilderness,” and some assorted thoughts on concert attire.

In the meantime, my friend Jason Sprague posted this article on his Twitter, and it has some interesting ideas on academia. His basic premise is that universities perpetuate their research and scholarly activity by encouraging students to pursue graduate degrees which prepare them for jobs which don’t exist. He has some intriguing suggestions, and I’d be curious to hear what the Guidonian Hand community thinks about his ideas. Here’s the link:

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/27/opinion/27taylor.html

First, a bare bones example (for a real trip, replay the video immediately after watching it to hear it continue to ascend, it will mess you up!):

Discrete Shepherd Scale

Now a few practical applications.  First James Tenney’s “For Ann (rising)”:

James Tenney: “For Ann (rising)”

Another great example is Beatsystem’s “Endlessly Downward” (while it sounds like a continuous glissando, it is actually an 11 second loop):

Beatsystem: “Endlessly Downward”

Finally, here is some music used for the “infinite stairs” in Super Mario 64:

Infinite Stairs

These, of course, are fairly obvious examples, but there are certainly many more subtle musical possibilities in this concept.  I’m sure there are many more examples out there already, but I’ll leave you to explore those on your own.