http://www.scena.org/lsm/sm11-3/Stockhausen_en.htmMany observers of the music scene consider Karlheinz Stockhausen the greatest living composer. In the early fifties, he led the post-serial avant-garde, along with Pierre Boulez. Stockhausen developed the idea of serialism, pushing it to the point where he created the super-formula. This giant concept governs works such as his twenty-nine-hour opera cycle Licht (1977-2003) and each of the highly varied segments that make up the work. He was a pioneer of electronic music (Studie I, 1953), mixed music (Kontakte, 1959-60), spatial orchestral music, (Gruppen, for three orchestras, 1955-57), intuitive music (Aus Den Sieben Tagen, 1968), and many more. His catalogue contains over 200 works.

Stockhausen turned seventy-seven on August 22, 2005. LSM talked with him in early September, mainly aboutKontakte, his work for piano, percussion and tape, to be presented this month by the SMCQ (Soci??de musique contemporaine du Qu?ec).

LSM: Surprising as your early Klavierst?ke (Piano Pieces, 1952) may have been for the first audiences, they were nevertheless works of a composer who was also a pianist. Then, in 1953, you didStudie I, followed byStudie II in 1954, both studies that already demonstrated an astounding mastery of the apparatus needed for constructing what was then the very new medium of electronic music.

KS: When composing these works, I wanted to organize all the various sounds according to predetermined proportions. Based on this, it was normal to “compose” the timbres (klangfarben) as well. I had already done a first study in concrete musici in Paris in 1952–a very simple thing, based on piano sounds that I had cut up, transposed, and so on. After that, I was able to begin working with pure sound at the Nordwestdeutsche Rundfunk (NWDR) electronic studio in Cologne. I understood what you could do with sinusoidal waves thanks to Professor Meyer-Eppler of Bonn University, with whom I studied. He taught phonetics and acoustics and had already written a very important book on the production of electric sounds, Elektrische Klangerzeugung [1949]. I understood that instrumental and vocal sounds are built on partials [harmonic sounds].

LSM: What strikes us most, especially when listening to the electronic version of Kontakte (1959-60), is the strange beauty of these sounds–totally new at the time you invented them. I don’t think you meant to make “beautiful music” when you composed the Klavierst?ke, but what about Kontakte?

KS: Well, I’m the one who did it, and of course at the time I wasn’t basing myself on any tradition. You can’t change the timbres of a piano, but for Kontakte I manufactured the sounds and, naturally, I used those that pleased me most. Still, there is a certain resemblance in Kontakte to familiar timbres–like percussive timbres. From the start I aimed at synthesizing abstract and concrete sounds. “Abstract sounds” sound like nothing we know of, whereas “concrete sounds” remind us of metal, wood, strings, and skin. Kontakte is therefore a synthesis of abstract and concrete.

LSM: There are two versions of Kontakte–one for tape only (four-track), the other a mixed version, with a percussionist and pianist added. Had you decided on doing two versions from the start?

KS: Yes. I began by working at the Cologne Radio, with three percussionists who performed three variations of the music on tape, but the result wasn’t very convincing. Then I wrote out all the details of a score for pianist and percussionist that became the second version. The work was created in May 1960 and I felt it would be better if it weren’t heard only from loudspeakers but also from two musicians with whom I’d worked for several years–David Tudor on piano and Christoph Caskel on percussion.

LSM: How was it received?

KS: Well, half-and-half, as usual. No, in fact there were more people who didn’t like it. Moreover, they were most unpleasant to me about it. For example, Karl Amadeus Hartmann, the extremely influential composer and president of the German section of the International Society for Contemporary Music, passed by me on leaving the hall and said, “Schei?n St?ke!”– “A piece of shit!”–I was really hurt.

LSM: And yet it represented such a great advance for music. The SMCQ has presented the mixed version three times so far, in 1978, 1983, and 1993. It sounds new each time we hear it.

KS: Especially with good performers! Currently I have three duos who perform it and who are extraordinary.

LSM: Are you planning to record them?

KS: No, because we already have the Kontarsky and Caskel from 1968ii, and I don’t want to make several recordings of works that are already available. There’s this duo, for example, a Polish percussionist and a Korean pianist. They’re so good that I gave them first prize last year at the end of my summer course.

LSM: I know, having consulted several of your scores, that your writing can be rather difficult for a performer to decipher.

KS: That depends only on the time one wants to devote to it. On the contrary, I think I’m very clear . . . A work like Kathinka’s Gesang [1982-83, for flute–see our October issue] requires an excellent performer to spend, say, three or four months working on it. Kathinka Pasveer, who gave the first performance, rehearsed it for six months! Now she can teach it to other flautists, some of whom are from Canada, like Marie-H??e Breault, who came last summer and is returning next summer to perform the work. This year was the eighth session of my summer courses. We had 134 excellent musicians from 20 countries. There were some 30 composers, over twenty performers, a dozen musicologists and some music-lovers. And the nine musicians who teach here are really fantastic! I’m taking advantage of the opportunity to invite Canadian musicians to come and see us, especially singers.iii

LSM: You write very specific details in your scores that might be impossible to play–for example to place a chord on the piano with different dynamics for each finger . . . If I’ve understood correctly, you feel that the performer must try to render the details asked for to the utmost extent of his or her capacities, and this is what makes a satisfying performance. It that right?

KS: That’s only half the story . . . The other half if that, if you really want to perform these works, you have to study them with those who have already done so and have spent many months with me for this purpose. I want to establish a new learning tradition, where young performers learn from the masters because scores can in fact become undecipherable. They need to be demonstrated, and that’s why we have teaching sessions every summer. Some works are conceived so as to give the performer more room for interpretation. For example, last August I did a new recording of F? Kommende Zeiten (For Times to Come, 1968-70) with the Group for Intuitive Music from Weimar. The compositions are all text, no notes, and this may appear to leave infinite freedom of choice to the performer; when you work on them, however, you realize that the freedom has its bounds, because, behind the text is a vision of what would be the best possible interpretation, and that’s what you have to aim for.

LSM: There’s another cycle of fifteen text compositions in intuitive music, Aus Den Sieben Tagen (From the Seven Days, 1968). Can we make a connection between those seven days and the seven operas of the Licht cycle (Light–The Seven Days of the Week, 1977?003)?

KS: In several of the Licht scenes there are moments in which the musicians have several choices and must make individual decisions. This is the case in the flute and percussion version of Kathinka’s Gesang, for example. The six percussionists must follow a certain direction and perform exact actions, but they can also make decisions that will lead them in one direction or another, and they make these decisions freely. That’s a typical example.

LSM: Also, you very often call on the performer to give the music a theatrical element. Why did you decide to introduce this element?

KS: This dates from Kreuzspiel (1951). I’ve always paid particular attention to movement: how to come onstage, how to leave, how to place a group of instrumentalists, and so on. There are several levels in Kreuzspiel. The oboist has to sit on a podium 140 centimetres high, and the percussionists also have to adopt certain special positions, and so on. Kontakte is another good example. The movements of the pianist and percussionist, who go to centre-stage then back to their instruments, are all written in. I think that when we attend a musical performance the visual aspect is as important as what we hear, it ia art too and that aspect must also be composed.

LSM: Certainly, your greatest achievement in this respect is the Licht opera cycle. Are you planning to have a complete performance of this seven-day cycle?

KS: Yes. At the moment two organizations want to do it. The European Arts Centre of Hellerau in Dresden wants to mount the whole cycle in 2008. Udo Zimmermann will conduct. Also the committee responsible for organizing the 2010 European Capital of Culture has announced its intention of doing the same.

LSM: You’ve already said that a number of your compositions were inspired by dreams–Helikopter-Streichquartett (Helicopter String Quartet, 1992-93), for example.

KS: That’s true of many of my works.

LSM: Do you think of yourself as a surrealist composer, then?

KS: I recently gave six concerts in Norway, where I performed Mittwochs-Abschied (Wednesday Farewell, 1996), a work of electronic and concrete music, and I presented it as a music that was not only surreal, but transreal, in the sense that it creates expectations of events that could happen, but which turn into something completely different, strange, but it isn’t the strangeness that is transreal; it is the miraculous nature of the musical transformation. Of course, there’s a lot of surrealism in my music.

LSM: You began a new cycle after finishing Licht in 2003–Klang (Sound). It’s surprising that you haven’t used this title before!

KS: Yes. In fact I’m surprised myself ! With Licht, I concentrated for seventeen years on the meaning of light in music, based on the seven days of the week (each of which has its own colour), the seven planets of Antiquity, the constellations, and different appearances of the divine. Finally, I asked myself why, as a musician, I was so interested in the meaning of light when I should be interested in sound! That’s what I’m doing now, but based on the twenty-four hours of the day. Last May 5, Ascension Day, we performed the first part of the cycle in the Milan cathedral: Ora Prima, for organ, soprano, and tenor.

LSM: Isn’t this your first work for organ?

KS: Yes. The work was commissioned for performance in the cathedral, and I said to myself that it would be good to learn how to use this instrument. It sounds really good! The only problem is the eighteen seconds of reverberation in the cathedral . . . I had to find a technical procedure for letting the audience hear the music and voices clearly enough. I now have another commission from the cathedral for Ora Seconda. It will be a piece for two harps, since I’m really keen to explore this problem of long reverberation. I’d like to find new ways of colouring sound by using this reverberation. I’ve almost finished the third hour of the cycle, which is for piano only. I’m using the piano’s natural reverberation. The subtitle is “Natural Durations for Piano.” It’s almost a teaching work on using the piano without the metronome beat, since I don’t specify the length of the notes, which should be the natural length of time for the instrument. It’s a cycle in itself that will complete a whole program. I’ve already finished fourteen pieces in the cycle, out of a total of twenty-four.

LSM: It’s fairly clear that time is among your major preoccupations. Are you also planning a cycle on minutes, and another on seconds?

KS: Yes, yes, it’s true. I only hope I live long enough after Klang to do it.

LSM: Are we talking of sixty pieces, each a minute long?

KS: No, I’m not such a pedagogue as all that. It’s a theme. Just as Ora Prima lasts some forty minutes, and Ora Seconda between twenty-five and thirty minutes. I’m not interested in the concept of time in chronometric terms..

LSM: I know that you’re mainly interested in time on a grand scale: the rhythm of the planets, the stars . . .

KS: That’s right.

LSM: You’ve also talked about the complex polyrhythms of the human body. In the end, you’re composing “naturalist” music.

KS: Yes–as I said, the subtitle of the third hour of Klang is “Natural Durations for Piano.” These durations are determined by the intensity of attack, which differs with each performer. The durations are physical and, so, natural.

LSM: Since Kontakte (1959-60) you’ve done many works that mix acoustic and electronic instruments. What do you think of the fact that symphony orchestras are playing the same way today as they did in the nineteenth century?

KS: Yes, they need to work… But you cannot speak anymore about “the musicians”. There are only a handful of exceptional soloists who, for a long time, will show other human beings what can be achieved with the body. But orchestras are based on the concept of many people playing together. This is an outmoded concept that takes absolutely no account of the technological advances that could solve the basic problem, which is to be heard. We don’t need to have so many musicians playing the same thing.

LSM: You’ve replaced them with synthesizers . . .

KS: But even to have the typical effect of a violin section takes only three musicians, and you can multiply this to get an extraordinary sound. We don’t need 120 musicians; it’s ridiculous. I can do the same thing with four loudspeakers!

LSM: What do you see as your contribution to the history of music?

KS: Oh . . . I was an explorer. I discovered a lot of acoustical and musical processes and new forms. Each of my pieces is a new form, a new scheme, and that’s what I continue doing. I think a composer must be an artist above all, by which I mean not to let oneself be drawn into making music for one’s daily break, to make money, but first and foremost to develop his art in breadth and depth. I believe we’re responsible for the continuing evolution of the language of music, and this is the most important aspect of our work. And I think I can say that I’ve worked very hard in that direction.

LSM: Are you still working more than eight hours a day?

KS: Yes, although it depends on where I am. When I’m at home, it’s usually nine hours a day.

LSM: The SMCQ has presented your music forty-seven times since its foundation in 1966, which makes you the most frequently played composer in its programs.

KS: I remember my visits to the SMCQ well. Maryvonne Kendergi used to come and see me and we would plan the programs together. When I was there, I spent a lot of time with Canadian composers and I knew some from the times of Messaien’s class. Serge Garant and others were in Paris at the same time as I was, and I saw them again in Montreal. But how is Maryvonne, is she well?

LSM: Yes. She turned ninety a few weeks ago.

KS: Please give her my best wishes! Tell her how much I appreciated the work she did.

No sooner said than done! *

[Translated by Jane Brierley]

i Pierre Schaefer ?discovered ?musique concr?e in 1948 in the studios of the Radio T??ision Fran?ise. Stockhausen’s ?ude (1952), Studie I (1953) et Studie II (1954) are available, with Gesang des J?glinge (1955-56) and Kontakte (1959-60) on ? Elektronische Musik ? CD No. 3 of the complete works of the composer, which he publishes himself (Stockhausen-Verlag : www.stockhausen.org).

ii Available on CD #6 of Stockhausen-Verlag. A 1960 version by David Tudor and Christoph Caskel is also available from Wergo (6009-2).

iii All information on these summer courses is available on the composer’s website: www.stockhausen.org

Kontakte!
Second concert of the SMCQ’s 40th season
Tuesday, November 15, 2005, at 8 p.m.
Redpath Hall, McGill University
514 843-9305

Soloists: D’Arcy Philip Gray (percussion) and Brigitte Poulin (piano)

Program:
Philippe Hurel, Tombeau in memoriam G?ard Grisey (2000), for vibraphone and piano; Geof Holbrook, [new work] Premiere performance;
Karlheinz Stockhausen, Kontakte (1959-60), for piano, percussion and tape
Photo : Kathinka Pasveer
Photo : Bruno Massenet
Stockhausen, Mtl, 1971, photo : Bruno MassenetAvec Ra?l Duguay
Photo : Bruno Massenet
Avec Maryvonne Kendergi, photo : Bruno Massenet

See Francis Dhomont ‘Acousmatic Update’
    
  

This article is reprinted from CONTACT!. the journal of the Canadian Electroacoustic Community. It was originally written in response to a request to Francis Dhomont to provide an article on acousmatic art which would be relevant to both “beginners” and “experts”. The editor is most grateful to Francis Dhomont and to Ian Chuprun of the CEC for giving permission to reproduce this article.

Laying the Foundation

First announced by several precursors in the first decades of this century (Russolo, Cahill, Trautwein, Martenot, Theremin, Cage, Varèse, etc), electroacoustic music (not named as such at the time) was born in the sound studios of the RTF [French National Radio] in 1948, in Paris, with musique concrète. Its inventor, Pierre Schaeffer, had the considerable merit of formulating the practical and theoretical notions for a music that required a new way of thinking about composition, and created a new sound world through the use of equally original production techniques. Indeed, in musique concrète, materials are selected from our sound environment, without prejudice.

All sounds, regardless of their origin, are of equal value and can be musically organized. These elements, sound objects (1), originally of an acoustic or electronic nature, are recorded, then processed, edited, mixed (note the analogy to techniques used in cinema) and ‘orchestrated’ in the studio, through the use of an ever-evolving technology. Finally, –and this is the most important point– the organization of complex “spectromorphologies” (Denis Smalley), far removed from the ‘musical note’, cannot be fully realized with traditional conceptual tools; a change of such profundity requires new compositional strategies, and very different aesthetic and formal preoccupations than those found in instrumental music composition.

This original compositional method begins with the concrete (pure sound matter) and proceeds towards the abstract (musical structures) –hence the name musique concrète – in reverse of what takes place in instrumental writing, where one starts with concepts (abstract) and ends with a performance (concrete). Consequently, musique concrète pieces asks of its listeners that they un-program their hearing (accustomed to the matrix of pitch, scales, harmonic relations, instrumental timbres, etc) and develop an attitude of active listening based on new criteria of perception. This music is also called concrète because it is fixed on tape through the recording process (“sono-fixation”, M Chion), in the same way that an image is fixed on a canvas or a film. François Bayle refers to sound images.

Two years later (1950), electronic music, realized through sound synthesis, emerged from the WDR Studios (West German Radio) in Cologne. Antagonistic at first, the schools of musique concrète and electronic music finally shared their sources and techniques, and were globally identified as electroacoustic music.

Since then, this single term has come to designate an infinite number of sound realizations with little in common, aside from their reliance on electricity; it refers to popular music (electronic instruments, synthesizers, samplers), serious research institutes (CCRMA, GRM, IRCAM, MIT… ), works on tape, instruments and tape, live electronic music, interactive works, etc. “The term Electroacoustic Music has expanded to such a degree that it has become a meaningless catch-all “, wrote Michel Chion in 1982. (2) Today, this expression reveals little of what we may expect to hear, and its use is analogous to applying the term acoustic music to define the entire instrumental repertoire. For these reasons, a group of composers, descendants of the school of musique concrète, found it necessary to find a term that clearly designates the genre (3) in which they work, and which calls for a particular reflection, a methodology, a craft, a syntax, and specific tools.

This term is acousmatic (4). It refers to a theoretical and practical compositional approach, to particular listening and realization conditions, and to sound projection strategies. Its origin is attributed to Pythagoras (6th C. BC) who, rumour has it, taught his classes –only verbally – from behind a partition, in order to force his students to focus all their attention on his message. In 1955, during the early stages of musique concrète, the writer Jérôme Peignot used the adjective acousmatic to define a sound which is heard and whose source is hidden. By shrouding ‘behind’ the speaker (a modern Pythagorean partition) any visual elements (such as instrumental performers on stage) that could be linked to perceived sound events, acousmatic art presents sound on its own, devoid of causal identity, thereby generating a flow of images in the psyche of the listener.

In order to avoid any confusion with performance-oriented electroacoustic music, or music using new instruments (Ondes Martenot, electric guitars, synthesizers, real-time digital audio processors, etc), François Bayle introduce the term acousmatic music in 1974. This term designates a music of images that is “shot and developed in the studio, and projected in a hall, like a film”, and is presented at a subsequent date. (5) Bayle has stated that, “With time, this term — both criticized and adopted, and which at first may strike one as severe — has softened through repeated use within the community of composers, and now serves to demarcate music on a fixed medium (musique de support) — representing a wide aesthetic spectrum — from all other contemporary music.” (6)

Today, the act of hearing a sound without seeing the object from which it originates is a daily occurrence. This happens when we listen to an orchestral symphony on our home sound system, when we listen to the radio, or when we communicate by phone, etc. In fact, we are unsuspecting acousmatic artists. But in these examples, it is not the message that is acousmatic but rather the listening conditions for the communication of that message. Mozart, as he wrote the symphonies which we now hear in our living rooms, was not thinking of the CD but rather of live performances by an orchestra. In order to be designated as acousmatic, a composition should be conceived for an acousmatic listening environment, giving priority to the ears. This fundamental distinction is not always clearly understood by neophyte listeners.

An Art of Time Occupying Space

The term Acousmatic Music (or Art) designates works that have been composed for loudspeakers, to be heard in the home –on radio or on CD/tape– or in concert, through the use of equipment (digital or analog) that allows the projection of sound in 3-dimensional space. However, though the concert may provide the ideal presentation for an acousmatic work, it is not a sine qua non criteria for its existence; like books collected for our home libraries, the quality of today’s commercial recordings allows us to have at our disposal a wide repertoire of pieces. Moreover, and in contrast to recorded instrumental performances, an acousmatic work on CD is an exact replica of the composer’s master. While the CD may serve only as a (good) reduction of an instrumental concert, the acousmatic concert serves as an impressive enlargement of a work composed on a fixed medium. One who has not experienced in the dark the sensation of hearing points of infinite distance, trajectories and waves, sudden whispers, so near, moving sound matter, in relief and in color, cannot imagine the invisible spectacle for the ears. Imagination gives wings to intangible sound. Acousmatic art is the art of mental representations triggered by sound. (7)

Certain Objections

Sometimes, people complain that there is nothing to see at acousmatic concerts. That may be because there’s much to hear, often unheard-of sounds. Our focus is limited; if our senses are reacting to a strong stimulus, our attention to other stimuli will diminish. Given the priority of the visual in our present society, at a time when it is no longer certain that music ‘is created for the purpose of listening’, the public’s need for the spectacular does not leave room for the kind of concentration that befits a good audition: ‘the eyes block the ears’ (is it really coincidence that a blind person’s hearing is often very good?). It is for this reason that acousmatic composers, inspired by Pythagoras, limit the amount of stimuli at their concerts. Instead of offering us glimpses of its existence, the act of hearing without seeing (Bayle) allows our mind to concentrate on the music itself.

Another critique that is often leveled at this rebellious sonic art: where are the instruments and the performers? If there are no performers, can we still call this music? As an example, allow me to quote Nil Parent, from an article in a recent issue of Contact! [Fall, 1994]: “Music is an art of performance, that is to say, by definition, an art in the image of time, unstorable.” (8) This statement is questionable, and I have often discussed it. What has become of this supposed intangible credo? Have we ever questioned the inevitability of the fact that music, since the beginning of time, has only come to us by way of generations of performers? Instead of accepting that it is so ‘by definition’ (a concept yet to be proven), should we not instead question history itself?

Of course, music originates from oral expression and instrumental gestures. But, soon after its birth, man needed to find ways of reproducing it, of storing it; laborious efforts where made at developing notation. In order to save this ephemeral art form, this volatile phenomenon from extinction, man had no other solution than to turn to performance or, in other words, to a musician’s translation of conventional symbols. Today, in fact, we confuse the end with what was once the means: because throughout history, music has had only one way to exist –through performance– it has come to be identified with performance. Though it is obvious that this situation is what has allowed music to become an accomplished art form, the idea that this fact is unchangeable is a limitation imposed by prejudice and force of habit. We must at least admit that an invention that allows us, after several millennium, to capture, store, and reproduce sound phenomena (like what film allows us to do to movement), has truly changed our relation with time. By allowing composers to ‘stop sound’, by giving them the possibility of getting back sound organizations in their precise original state, in precise detail, and exactly where they left off, recording techniques offer music new areas to investigate, as well as new ways of realization. What will reach the listener is not a music that approximates the intentions of the composer, but rather, exactly what he intended, with all its material characteristics. This music no longer depends on performance, nor does it act as its substitute.

In passing, I would like to reply to Nil Parent, in regards to the supposed ‘devastating progress through accumulation’ that he makes reference to in his article, which, though not lacking in quality, ties nevertheless too many problems to a single cause. While he calls for the “urgent revaluation of the performer (9) that the return to ‘directness’

implies” (10), I would like to remind him that recording must not be such a terrible medium, if Glenn Gould, not what one would call your ‘average’ performer, chose it over live performance.

Perspectives

Since music, considered for many years an art of performance, can now also be presented in the form of a fixed medium, like cinema, why should we not investigate this new creative space? Let’s stop comparing it to a ‘performing’ art. It is not the sheer physical presence of performers that guarantees the authenticity of a work, but rather what is transmitted in the act of hearing; in that sense, live music is no more or less alive than music on a fixed medium; both can take on meaning if their message reaches us. In fact, though McLuhan may disagree, the message is not the medium, but rather the message.

We will soon celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of musique concrète. The evolution of this art is measured by the abundance of the repertoire that is now available. But theories concerning this art change quickly and we are only now beginning to explore its resources. Here and there one can find conferences, concert series and festivals dedicated to this art, particularly in Europe; more and more articles and books are appearing and helping to shape new approaches to composition. This is undoubtedly a new artistic path for the upcoming century; it can no longer not be taken into consideration.

Notes

1) It is important to make the distinction between sound object (perceived sound) and material object (resonating body).

2) Chion, M., 1982, La musique électroacoustique, PUF, Paris, P.9

3) As many others have done in other genres: serial, minimalist, spectral, rock, country, etc.

4) Michel Chion would rather keep the term musique concrète, since it is well entrenched. The main objection that he has faced is that it refers to a historical period. Although musique concrète is still alive in its contemporary form, it is likely that a renewal of terminology may trigger a similar renewal of its theory.

5) Sometimes referred to as cinema for the ears (this analogy should not be taken literally).

6) Bayle, F., 1993, Musique acousmatique, propositions… positions, Buchet/Chastel—INA-GRM ed., Paris, P. 18

7) For more information, please refer to Bayle’s previously cited work, as well as the following: Chion, M., L’art des sons fixés ou la musique concrètement (1991), Fontaine, France, Éditions Métamkine/Nota-Bene/Sono-Concept; and, Vande Gorne, A., Vous avez dit acousmatique? (1991), Ohain, Belgium, Éditions Musiques et Recherches.

8) Parent, N., 1994, Contact! 8.1: Play. The Decline of a Musical Culture, CEC, Montréal, P. 50.

9) Is there really such a need for revaluation of the performer in our media-star epoch?

10) ibid

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