[We welcome Dan Albertson as a new contributor. A
short bio appears at the end of this piece. Ed.]

Thinking About Helmut Lachenmann,
with Recommended Recordings

Dan Albertson

[November 2004.]

Helmut Lachenmann, the German composer born in Stuttgart
in 1935, has been at the center of musical debates for nearly four decades
and remains there, undaunted, today. His works offer both listeners and
performers tremendous challenges ― insurmountable challenges, some
would say ― but his music nonetheless is performed
and people do listen to it (perhaps in the ways in which
the composer intends). Vital to his aesthetic belief is the reformulation
and renewal of musical traditions; why simply accept the hierarchy of
traditions the evolution of music has handed down to us? He achieves
this musical bouleversement by asking his listeners and
performers to suspend, or perhaps completely reject, their inherited
beliefs about music, because they serve only to hinder and distort the
listening experience. His ability to achieve beauty through the use of
unheard or undesired sounds is a testament to his meticulous craft.

Judging by his influence, for better or worse, on the following
generations of European composers, it seems that he has not only built
a successful and important oeuvre but also a significant body of admirers,
whose music shares some of his traits, but never with the same verve.
Although his aesthetic has perhaps not served as the foremost model in
new European music ― and to his benefit: the fewer clones, the
better ― he nonetheless ranks as one of Europe’s reigning
composers, both in terms of his music itself and his thoughts about music’s
troubled past, present and future. Lachenmann’s attitude and output,
signifying a reaction against the staid music of his student years, a
break from dogmatic, jaded musical principles and a fondness for the
music of the past, still resonates today.

Lachenmann’s musical development began early. Born
into a Protestant family in Stuttgart on November 27, 1935, Helmut Friedrich
Lachenmann’s earliest musical experiences were those, not unexpectedly,
heard at church. Especially intriguing to him was the sound of his church’s
organ and chorus; later, from 1946-48, he sang in this choir, which specialized
in the music of Orlando di Lasso, Heinrich Sch?tz and other pre-Bach
composers. He began composing soon after and wrote many large-scale pieces,
including a large symphony, but all of these early scores are now lost.
For three academic years (1955-58), he studied composition and music
theory with Johann Nepomuk David and piano with J?rgen Uhde at the
Musikhochschule Stuttgart. A definite turning point in his career occurred
away from the classroom, when he attended the summer courses at Darmstadt
for the first time in 1957, where he found a mentor in the form of Luigi
Nono, one of the few composers at that time of rampant serialism who
openly embraced the past. Lachenmann became Nono’s first private
pupil and stayed with him in Venice from 1958-60. He later had meetings
with Alfons Kontarsky, Henri Pousseur, Frederic Rzewski and Karlheinz
Stockhausen in Cologne in 1963-64 and vital encounters with the percussionists
Christoph Caskel and Michael W. Ranta at the same time, the effects of
which are still felt in his musical outlook today.

Like his teacher, Lachenmann’s music has constantly
evolved to interact with ― or at least touch upon ― the music
of the past. For instance, his clarinet concerto Accanto (1975-76,
rev. 1982) utilizes Mozart’s only clarinet concerto, in its entirety,
on tape; Tanzsuite mit Deutschlandlied (1979-80), as its
title implies, alludes to the German national anthem, attributed to Franz
Joseph Haydn; Staub (1985-87) is based on material from
Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony and is in fact intended to be programmed
with that work, despite the striking contrast between the two; and Schreiben (2002-03,
rev. 2004) is said to be based on the opening contrabass note of Wagner’s Das
Rheingold, the same E-flat chosen by Richard Strauss to begin
his Eine Alpensymphonie, thus perhaps linking together
three vastly diverse figures in German music. (I write “said to
be” because I have not yet heard the piece and the composer has
ambivalent feelings about it.)

What Lachenmann has attempted in his music is a clearly
evident reanalysis and reconsideration of the past, as seen and heard
through the same, perhaps clich?d instruments composers have used
for centuries, but now with a different aim: disorientation, not superficial
enjoyment. By taking the essence of so-called classical music, i.e.,
the notes themselves ― not the fetishized veneer of both audiences
and performers, or the weighty expectations of grandeur they have heaped
upon them ― Lachenmann has shown a keen ability both to place his
work within a historical context and not recoil into any neo–
movement. His music lacks the generalized, perhaps romanticized, notion
of beauty: something immediately appealing, something refined, something
through its undeniable charm persuading everyone of its excellence. Lachenmann’s
music is appealing, but perhaps not immediately so; it is refined, but
to such a degree that alienation is possible; and it is charming, but
far from jocund. Is it likable? Is it accessible?
Such questions are often asked. For these reasons, it is quite possible
that average listeners will be disappointed when they hear his music.

In his pieces from 1966 onward, his theory of a musique
concr?te instrumentale, formulated in an essay from
that year, is first seen in a mature form. By this point, musique
concr?te (sounds recorded from everyday life) had
been in existence for 20 years, but was now primarily mixed with,
if not completely surpassed by, electronic sounds created in a studio.
Although essentially a very crude form of musical expression, the musique
concr?te field had nonetheless created some haunting
and unusually beautiful, almost idyllic, music. Lachenmann
chose to take this same attitude and apply it to existing instruments
by utilizing a rich palette of unorthodox instrumental effects. They
do not exist as effects, however, but instead as characters in the
musical dramaturgy, so to speak, as they do in most works of the
traditional repertoire.

Although his chamber works are as intimate as any ever
written, they are also among his most experimental works. Because of
the composer’s research into new capabilities of string instruments,
the three string quartets (Gran Torso [1971-72, rev. 1978,
1988], Reigen seliger Geister [1989] and Grido [2000-01,
rev. 2002]) immediately stand out from his other, no less considerable,
chamber pieces. They are replete with new techniques and ideas, but are
all vastly different in nature. The first is abrasive, almost scolding;
the second is an atmospheric, nearly hollowed-out world of sonic minutiae;
and the third combines elements of both, but certainly leans toward the
sound of the second. In his orchestral pieces, he employs unusually large,
some would say Romantic-sized, orchestras, with the addition
(in most pieces) of ad-hoc players using a variety of conventional and
unconventional instruments, ranging from ping-pong balls to toy frogs
to bathtubs and beyond; one or two electric guitars (one of the first
composers to consistently use this instrument in an orchestral context);
Hammond organ and/or pianos, especially the latter in recent pieces,
where usually two are used as giant reverberators; and a vast array of
percussion instruments. The orchestral works are thus colorful, but not
at all excessive in their treatment. Lachenmann manages these large forces
with utmost care and an almost Webernesque sense of timbre. In fact,
it could be said that the electric guitar and Hammond organ are to Lachenmann
what the mandolin and celesta were to Webern: instruments whose use was
sparse, but whose unmistakable qualities were beneficial at the right
moment.

Whether his redefinition of music encompassing and embracing
all sounds will survive and/or be expanded upon remains to seen, but
one could only hope that his experiments ― successful experiments ― are
not forgotten when the time comes again to reevaluate what we as listeners
hear. For those willing to venture into terra incognita,
here are five discs I recommend as ideal introductions to Lachenmann’s
multifaceted soundworlds, though of course, experienced listeners will
almost certainly have these in their collections already.

The best place to start is an ECM New Series recording
of three watershed works in his oeuvre: Schwankungen am Rand (1974-75), Mouvement
(­ vor der Erstarrung) (1982-84) and “…zwei
Gef?hle…,” Musik mit Leonardo (1991-92).

The first piece is scored for brass and strings, according
to its subtitle, but in German, Blech means both brass
and sheet metal. Thus, in addition to brass and strings, some of which
are deployed throughout the concert space, there are two pianos and four
thunder sheets played by two percussionists, not to mention an additional
member of the string family: the electric guitar, here two, in fact.
For the most part, it is a quiet, almost static piece (the title, Fluctuations
on the Fringe, implies that the fringe here is not only that
between the instruments themselves, but also the border between noise
and silence), punctuated by occasional brass outbursts; the pianos lead
the way most of the time, however, their steady cluster pulse like a
beacon. Although E?tv?s’ rendering is much quicker than
the previous one by Bour (see recording 2), it does not
at all seem rushed; the music still flows very naturally and efficiently.
The big advantage is the overall improvement in recorded sound.

Mouvement (­ vor der Erstarrung) is
an entirely different piece, one characterized by much subtler, much
more refined motions. It sounds almost like a direct dialogue with the
music of the past, presented through the eyeglass of the modern world.
The title refers to paralysis. Perhaps the piece acknowledges life ― indeed
perhaps unwittingly ― within a situation where paralysis pervades
music. Originally written for Ensemble InterContemporain and premiered
by this group under the present conductor, this piece has been recorded
elsewhere, equally brilliantly, but its inclusion here makes this disc
even more laudable.

Lastly, “…zwei Gef?hle…,” Musik
mit Leonardo is another of Lachenmann’s trademark pieces,
one made especially famous by Lachenmann’s frequent reading
of its solo part (or parts; here it is done, as originally intended,
by two people: Franck Ollu and Ueli Wiget). It takes the refined
nature of the previous piece to another level, but is more uncompromising
in spirit: Instruments are used, as usual, in extreme but surprisingly
beautiful ways, and the text is delivered in a completely staccato,
fragmented manner, perhaps off-putting to some, but not at all overused.
The text itself is by Leonardo da Vinci, spoken in German translation;
even in English or Italian, though, it would be identifiable or recognizable
only in spots. This piece was later incorporated into Lachenmann’s
opera Das M?dchen mit den Schwefelh?lzern (1990-96,
rev. 1999), where it forms a crucial point in the middle part of
the piece.

The disc features Peter E?tv?s as conductor of
all three pieces, with both the Ensemble Modern and Ensemble Modern Orchestra,
and he brings considerable skill to these challenging large-scale pieces.
The performers themselves are top-notch and obviously well-attuned to
the demands made by the composer. (ECM New Series 1789)

Next I would suggest a col legno release which compiles
earlier recordings by this label onto one budget-priced CD. It contains
the premiere recordings (all live) of Int?rieur I (1965-66), Schwankungen
am Rand and Air (1968-69, rev. 1994; the revised
version is the one presented here).

Int?rieur I has been described by
the composer as a breakthrough piece, perhaps his unofficial Opus One.
Scored for a solo percussionist performing in a horseshoe-shaped setup,
the piece is a direct result of Lachenmann’s fruitful contact with
Caskel and Ranta in Cologne a few years earlier. Its emphasis on primarily
unpitched instruments, including various cymbals, gongs and metallic
objects, marked the earliest phase of Lachenmann’s experiments
in bringing the production of sound, even its supposedly ugly attributes,
to the surface. It is not a mature work, but still noteworthy.

The Schwankungen available here is the live
recording from its premiere at Donaueschingen in October 1975. Ernest
Bour, the stalwart conductor of the European avant-garde, brings a great
reading, but the recording technology of the time leaves some of the
piece’s more delicate moments slightly hazy. That is a minor drawback,
but I personally prefer the somewhat slower tempi of his reading to E?tv?s’ recording;
this one is a full five minutes longer, with greater tension ― perhaps
abandon! ― in the brass.

The final piece is the percussion concerto Air.
Its 20-minute course includes something unique in Lachenmann’s
music, a cadenza. It occurs toward the middle of the piece, however,
not the customary position nearer the climax. Its part is entirely free
for the performer and typically lasts a few minutes; here these moments
of quiet repose serve as a useful transition between the anxious figures
of the beginning and the occasionally absurd sounds, including omnipresent
croaking frogs, of the piece’s culminating sections. Again, there
is a focus on metallic tones, including the soloist’s crystalline
Japanese temple gong and the distinct fuzz of electric doorbells operated
not by the soloist, but instead by ad-hoc players, often coupled with
abrasive sounds of gongs or metals. The title could mean so much: the
air of other planets, as sung in Schoenberg’s Second Quartet, maybe,
or the slow palpitations of breath signified by the instruments, including
brass occasionally filled with water. No matter: The result is a piece
which depends not so much on showy virtuosity but rather on a more personal,
intimate skill.

The percussion soloist in Int?rieur I is
Christoph Caskel; in Air, it’s Christian Dierstein.
The orchestra in Schwankungen is the SWF-Sinfonieorchester
Baden-Baden und Freiburg and in Air, the Staatsorchester
Stuttgart. The conductor of Schwankungen is Bour; Lothar
Zagrosek leads Air. All performances are superb, but as
mentioned above, the recording of Schwankungen is old; Int?rieur
I is even older but shows its age less, due to the concentration
on a single performer. (col legno collage WWE 20511)

Now a glimpse at two important recent chamber works by
Lachenmann: Allegro sostenuto (1986-88, rev. 1989, passim)
and Serynade (1997-98, rev. 2000), as recorded by the relatively
new, but very ambitious, Austrian label Kairos.

The trio ― clarinet doubling bass clarinet, cello
and piano ― Allegro sostenuto is, as its title declares,
a prolonged allegro of 30 minutes. Nonetheless, it is much more tranquil,
almost somber, than one would imagine an allegro to be. Here Lachenmann
is at his most sublime, still making good use of extended techniques,
but here they are awash in an almost surreal musical glow of dialogues
and solos. The performance is excellent and though the piece has been
recorded elsewhere, the easy availability of this CD makes it especially
priceless.

The second work, Serynade, is also a half-hour
in duration but for only one instrument; it could be called a duo for
piano and pedals, as the pianist must navigate an almost ungodly web
of pedal requirements. One seldom encounters a piece of such abundant
energy and variety; its moods range from the solemn, occasionally repeating
blocks of the beginning, to swiftly running passages covering several
octaves. It is a showcase of virtuosity, one not to be undertaken by
easily fatigued pianists, and is throughout a beautiful work, fully engaging
the listener in turns both serene and tempestuous. The work was written
especially for the composer’s wife Yukiko Sugawara and for those
wondering, the y in the work’s title alludes to her.

Sugawara plays piano in both pieces and in the trio is
joined by clarinetist Shizuyo Oka and cellist Lucas Fels, all veterans
of Lachenmann’s music. They perform exceptionally well, which is
not a surprise. (Kairos 0012212KAI)

?

Up next are both recordings of the composer’s only
theatrical experiment, the opera Das M?dchen mit den Schwefelh?lzern.
I know, picking two recordings is technically cheating, but the pieces
are somewhat different and each interpretation merits a listen. The first
was made by Kairos and the second by ECM New Series, both
labels mentioned earlier.

Although this work is less than a decade old, it has already
received stagings in various parts of Europe and in Japan. The second
performance captures the composer’s revision, sometimes called
the Japan version, and the initial recording done by Lothar
Zagrosek and his Staatsoper Stuttgart crew ― who have since put
it on many times ― dates from its first run. The piece is essentially
unchanged, except in small but to Lachenmann meaningful instrumental
details and in the length of the aforementioned “…zwei
Gef?hle…” which is abridged in the new version
to about half its original duration. It is a piece of amazing power,
all originating from unlikely text sources, including the classic Andersen
fairy tale, some of Nietzsche’s most famous poetry, a text about
the volcano Stromboli by Leonardo da Vinci, and a prison letter from
Gudrun Ensslin, Lachenmann’s childhood friend. These combine to
make a compelling statement about the world today, a pointed but oblique
criticism of a world which cares not enough for its people. The protagonist’s
suffering is constantly felt throughout the piece, but never is it a
detriment or nuisance; quite on the contrary, the listener is drawn into
her struggle for life against the elements. The enormous orchestral forces,
including more than 100 players, further create this eerily familiar
yet frightening world. It is a work difficult to produce because of the
music’s inherent theatricality, but a piece chilling even in one’s
living room. The addition of the Japanese sh? mouth
organ, famous for its lament-like, sustained tone, creates a further
level of drama and fright in this score.

On the new recording, Eiko Morikawa and Nicole Tibbels
are the sopranos, Helmut Lachenmann the speaker, Mayumi Miyata the sh? soloist,
Tomoko Hemmi and Yukiko Sugawara the piano soloists, and Sylvain Cambreling
leads the SWR-Vokalensemble Stuttgart and SWR-Sinfonieorchester Baden-Baden
und Freiburg. The old one features sopranos Elizabeth Keusch and Sarah
Leonard, speaker Salome Kammer, sh?-player Miyata,
pianists Hemmi and Sugawara, and Lothar Zagrosek conducts the chorus
and orchestra of the Staatsoper Stuttgart. Soloists, both vocal and instrumental,
are universally consistent and it is especially interesting to compare
Kammer’s female reading of the Leonardo da Vinci text with Lachenmann’s
shortened reading: a great contrast indeed. ECM New Series 1858/59 (new)
and Kairos 0012282KAI (old).

My last pick is a Kairos recording of three important
orchestral works, Kontrakadenz (1970-71), Klangschatten ­ mein
Saitenspiel (1972) and Fassade (1973, rev. 1987),
as issued by Kairos.

The first work is, in my opinion, Lachenmann’s finest: Kontrakadenz.
It is shorter than the other two and also, I believe, more immediately
accessible. That statement does not mean, however, that it is transparent
and/or catchy; it is still a challenge. Toward the beginning,
one hears various percussive rustlings, including falling ping-pong balls,
coins, etc. and after a while two ad-hoc players turn on a radio and
tune into someone speaking, in this case the composer himself mentioning
the performance that the listener is hearing. It is a strange moment
of irony. The piece is also notable for its unusually prolonged climax,
one employing what could be called motifs: A sustained Hammond organ
figure, commented on by the electric guitar and percussion, then leads
to a crescendo tam-tam strike, after which roaring brass and strings
enter the fray. It is a passage repeated ― with variations, naturally ― several
times before the work attains its proper end. This radio recording was
made soon after its 1971 premiere.

Klangschatten ­ mein Saitenspiel is
a game of strings, as its title implies. The strings in this case are
48 standard strings, plus three pianos employed in such a manner as to
blur the barrier between percussion and string instruments. Both pianos
and strings are wont to play in groups and in changing intervals and
roles; the pianos play throughout the piece, but it is not overtly clear
that there are three pianists; one might think there are only two (or
possibly only one), so sparse is their material. Their isolated notes,
sprinkled across similarly irregular patterns in the strings, are fundamental
to the piece, but the sustained slow tempi and quiet dynamics may make
this work more difficult for novice listeners. Be patient! This is one
of the most infrequently performed of Lachenmann’s pieces (no mean
accomplishment); the recording is the premiere from December 1972.

Fassade, here in its revised form, is more
immediately appealing, but is still replete with Lachenmann’s signature
taste for the extraordinary. The composer calls it a secret march and
indeed it has forward propulsion throughout most of its 22-minute course.
As in Kontrakadenz, there is another element at work in
this piece; instead of a radio, it is a tape which features mostly radio
static, white noise and occasionally a sliver of a voice. When used in
tandem with large orchestral forces, including especially large quantities
of brass and percussion, the overall noise factor is very high, a fact
which makes its more subdued moments even more prominent. It is a finely
balanced work of extremes.

Gerhard Gregor, Peter Roggenkamp and Zsigmond Szathm?ry
are the piano soloists in Klangschatten and they perform
with the needed sense of isolation and collaboration; longtime Lachenmann
advocate Michael Gielen conducts all three pieces with, in sequence,
the SWR Radio-Sinfonieorchester Stuttgart, NDR-Sinfonieorchester and
SWR-Sinfonieorchester Baden-Baden und Freiburg. Conductor and musicians
are superb. (Kairos 0012232KAI)

Whether you pick up these recordings or come across others,
I urge you to give this compelling composer a chance. It could very well
change your outlook on music.

[Dan Albertson is an editor, poet, translator and
writer based in Michigan. An amateur musicologist for many years,
he has directed the online database “The Living Composers Project” since
2000 and recently edited a two-part journal on the life and works
of Helmut Lachenmann, the first of its kind in English (2004-05,
Contemporary Music Review). He has also contributed booklet notes
to the British label Metier and articles for German and Russian
publications. Work as an editor and translator, notably the latter
for the German label Cybele, allows him to explore his musicological
and poetic interests. His poetry, primarily abstract in nature, has
been used in recent years by composers in Asia, Europe and South
America.]

Lachenmann, Helmut (b. November 27, 1935, Stuttgart). Esteemed German composer of mostly orchestral, chamber and piano works that have been performed throughout the world.

Prof. Lachenmann studied composition and music theory with Johann Nepomuk David and piano with J?rgen Uhde at the Musikhochschule Stuttgart from 1955-58 and was the first private student of Luigi Nono in Venice from 1958-60. He later worked at the Institute of Psychoacoustics and Electronic Music (IPEM) of the University of Ghent in 1965. He received an honorary doctorate from the Musikhochschule Hannover in 2001.

His honors include the Kulturpreis f?r Musik from the city of Munich (1965), the Kompositionpreis from the city of Stuttgart (1968, for Consolation I), the Bach-Preis Hamburg (1972), and the Ernst von Siemens Musikpreis (1997). Most recently, he received the Royal Philharmonic Society Music Award for Chamber-Scale Composition (2004, for III. Streichquartett, ‘Grido’). He is a member of the Akademie der K?nste in Berlin, Hamburg, Leipzig, Mannheim, and Munich and the Academie voor Wetenschapen, Letteren en Schone Kunsten van Belgi?. His music has been featured at festivals throughout the world, including numerous occasions at Darmstadt, the Venice Biennale, the Wien Modern, and the Wittener Tage f?r Neue Kammermusik, as well as five portrait concerts and a symposium at the Salzburg Festival (2002).

Prof. Lachenmann taught at the Musikhochschule Stuttgart from 1966-70, the P?dagogische Hochschule in Ludwigsburg from 1970-76, the Universit?t Basel in 1972-73, and the Musikhochschule Hannover from 1976-81. He has regularly lectured at Darmstadt since 1978 and taught as Professor f?r Komposition at the Musikhochschule Stuttgart from 1981-99. In addition, he has lectured in Argentina, Austria, Brazil, Canada, Chile, the Dominican Republic, France, Germany, Japan, Mexico, The Netherlands, Norway, Russia, Spain, Switzerland, and the USA.

He is married to the pianist Yukiko Sugawara.

Breitkopf & H?rtel publishes his music.

CONTACT INFORMATION

Street address: Prof. Helmut Lachenmann, c/o Breitkopf & H?rtel, Walkm?hlstr. 52, 65195 Wiesbaden, Germany

COMPLETE LIST OF WORKS

STAGE: Das M?dchen mit den Schwefelh?lzern (music theatre work, libretto compiled by the composer from texts by Hans Christian Andersen [translations from the Dr?mersche Verlangsanstalt, Eva-Maria Bl?hm], Leonardo da Vinci, Gudrun Ensslin, Friedrich Nietzsche), 2 sopranos, 1-4 speakers, 16 mixed voices, sho, 2 pianos, large orchestra (97 players), 6 tapes, 1990-96, revised 1999 (incorporates ‘…zwei Gef?hle…’, Musik mit Leonardo)

ORCHESTRAL: Souvenir, orchestra (6 flutes [all + piccolo], 6 clarinets [all + E-flat clarinet, bass clarinet], piano, xylorimba, 11 violas, 8 celli, 8 double basses), tape, 1959; Notturno (Musik f?r Julia), cello, small orchestra (2 flutes [any one + piccolo], trumpet, harp, timpani, 3 percussion, 19 strings), 1966-68, revised 1990; Air, percussion, 2 ad libitum players, large orchestra (78 players), 1968-69, revised 1994; Kontrakadenz, 4 recorders, 4 ad libitum players (any 2 + radio), large orchestra (88 players), 1970-71; Klangschatten ­ mein Saitenspiel, 3 pianos, 48 strings, 1972; Fassade, 8 ad libitum players, large orchestra (94 players), tape, 1973, revised 1987; Schwankungen am Rand, orchestra (4 trumpets, 4 trombones, 2 electric guitars, 2 pianos, 4 thunder sheets [2 players], 4 violins [around hall], 2 violas [around hall], 28 strings), 6 tapes, 1974-75; Accanto, clarinet, orchestra, tape, 1975-76, revised 1982; Tanzsuite mit Deutschlandlied, amplified string quartet, large orchestra (74 players), 1979-80; Harmonica, tuba, large orchestra (91 players), 1981-83; Ausklang, piano, large orchestra (80 players), 1984-85, revised 1986; Staub, large orchestra (72-73 players), 1985-87; Tableau, large orchestra (89 players), 1988-89; Schreiben, large orchestra (69 players), 2002-03, revised 2004; Double (Grido II), 48 strings, 2004 (version of III. Streichquartett, ‘Grido’); Concertini, small orchestra (8 winds, 5 brass, harp, guitar, piano, 2 percussion, 7 strings), 2004-05

CHAMBER MUSIC: Streichtrio, violin, viola, cello, 1965; Int?rieur I, percussion, 1965-66; Trio fluido, clarinet, viola, percussion, 1966-67, revised 1968; Pression, cello, 1969-70; Dal niente (Int?rieur III), clarinet, 1970; Gran Torso, string quartet, 1971-72, revised 1978, 1988; Salut f?r Caudwell (players also speak texts by Christopher Caudwell, Friedrich Nietzsche), 2 guitars (with scordatura), 1977; Mouvement (­ vor der Erstarrung), 3 ad libitum players, ensemble (flute [+ piccolo], alto flute [+ piccolo], 2 clarinets [both + bass clarinet], bass clarinet, 2 trumpets, 2 violas, 2 celli, double bass, timpani, 2 xylorimbas), 1982-84; Dritte Stimme zu J.S. Bachs zweistimmiger Invention d-moll BWV 775, any 2-3 homogenous instruments, 1985; Toccatina (study), violin, 1986; Allegro sostenuto, clarinet (+ bass clarinet), cello, piano, 1986-88, revised 1989; II. Streichquartett, ‘Reigen seliger Geister’, string quartet, 1989; Sakura (variations on a Japanese folksong), saxophone, piano, percussion, 2000; III. Streichquartett, ‘Grido’, string quartet, 2000-01, revised 2002 (also version as Double [Grido II], 48 strings)

CHORAL: Consolation I (text by Ernst Toller), 12 mixed voices, 4 percussion, 1967, revised 1990, 1993 (also incorporated into Les Consolations); Consolation II (text from the Wessobrunner Gebet [9th century German prayer (modern German translation)]), 16 mixed voices, 1968 (also incorporated into Les Consolations); Les Consolations (texts by Hans Christian Andersen [translation from the Dr?mersche Verlangsanstalt], Ernst Toller, the Wessobrunner Gebet), 16 mixed voices, large orchestra (76 players), 6 tapes, 1977-78 (incorporates Consolation I, Consolation II); NUN (text by Kitaro Nishida [translated by Peter P?rtner]), 8 male voices, flute (+ bass flute), trombone, large orchestra (74 players), 1997-99, revised 2002

VOCAL: temA (vocalise), mezzo-soprano, flute, cello, 1968; ‘…zwei Gef?hle…’, Musik mit Leonardo (in memoriam Luigi Nono, text by Leonardo da Vinci [translated by Kurt Gerstenberg]; most musicians also speak text by Friedrich Nietzsche), 1-2 speakers, small orchestra (22 players), 1991-92 (also incorporated into Das M?dchen mit den Schwefelh?lzern)

PIANO: F?nf Variationen ?ber ein Thema von Franz Schubert, 1956; Echo Andante, 1961-62; Wiegenmusik, 1963; Guero, 1970, revised 1988; Ein Kinderspiel (7 small pieces), 1980; Serynade, 1997-98, revised 2000

DISCOGRAPHY

Allegro sostenuto; Dal niente (Int?rieur III); Pression; Wiegenmusik. Alain Damiens, clarinets; Pierre Strauch, cello; Pierre-Laurent Aimard, piano (Accord: 202082)

Int?rieur I; Notturno (Musik f?r Julia); ‘…zwei Gef?hle…’, Musik mit Leonardo. Helmut Lachenmann, speaker; Andreas Lindenbaum, cello; Bj?rn Wilker, percussion; Hans Zender/Klangforum Wien (Accord: 204852)

Ein Kinderspiel. Silvia Vidal, piano (Ah/Note 1)

Salut f?r Caudwell. Kei Koh, Norio Sato, guitars (ALM Records: ALCD 53)

Int?rieur I. Babette Haag, percussion (Animato: ACD 6056)

F?nf Variationen ?ber ein Thema von Franz Schubert. Susanne Kessel, piano (Arte Nova: 74321 75498)

II. Streichquartett, ‘Reigen seliger Geister’. Quatuor Diotima (Assai: 222.492)

Pression. Taco Kooistra, cello (Attacca Babel: 9369)

Int?rieur I. Cornelia Monske, percussion (Audite: Aud 20.005)

Notturno (Musik f?r Julia). Andreas Lindenbaum, cello; Hans Zender/Klangforum Wien (BMG/RCA: 74321 73512)

Staub. Myung-Whun Chung/Rundfunk-Sinfonieorchester Saarbr?cken (BMG/RCA: 74321 73518)

Air (original version). Michael W. Ranta, percussion; Lukas Foss/Rundfunk-Sinfonieorchester Frankfurt (BMG/RCA: 74321 73550)

Salut f?r Caudwell. Christopher Brandt, Robin Hoffmann, guitars (Cadenza: 800 875)

Consolation I; Consolation II. Arno Arndt, Siegfried Fink, Hermann Gschwendtner, Michael W. Ranta, percussion; Clytus Gottwald/Schola Cantorum Stuttgart (Cadenza: 800 893)

Salut f?r Caudwell. Wilhelm Bruck, Theodor Ross, guitars (Classic World: 5005)

Air (revised version). Christian Dierstein, percussion; Lothar Zagrosek/Staatsorchester Stuttgart (Col Legno: WWE 20041)

Ein Kinderspiel; Wiegenmusik; Guero; Echo Andante; Serynade. Marino Formenti, piano (Col Legno: WWE 20222)

Int?rieur I; Schwankungen am Rand; Air (revised version). Christoph Caskel, Christian Dierstein, percussion; Lothar Zagrosek/Staatsorchester Stuttgart; Ernest Bour/SWF-Sinfonieorchester Baden-Baden und Freiburg (Col Legno: WWE 20511)

Gran Torso; Salut f?r Caudwell. Wilhelm Bruck, Theodor Ross, guitars; Berner Streichquartett (Col Legno: AU 31804)

Echo Andante; Ein Kinderspiel; Guero; F?nf Variationen ?ber ein Thema von Franz Schubert; Wiegenmusik. Roland Keller, piano (Col Legno: AU 31813)

Accanto. Eduard Brunner, clarinet; Zolt?n Pesk?/SWR-Sinfonieorchester Baden-Baden und Freiburg (Col Legno: AU 31836)

Ausklang; Tableau. Massimiliano Damerini, piano; Peter E?tv?s/K?lner Rundfunk-Sinfonieorchester; Hans Zender/Rundfunk-Sinfonieorchester Saarbr?cken (Col Legno: WWE 31862)

Allegro sostenuto; Dal niente (Int?rieur III); Int?rieur I; Pression. Eduard Brunner, clarinets; Walter Grimmer, cello; Massimiliano Damerini, piano; Johannes Beer, percussion (Col Legno: WWE 31863)

Schwankungen am Rand. Ernest Bour/SWF-Sinfonieorchester Baden-Baden und Freiburg (Col Legno: WWE 31899)

Allegro sostenuto; Dal niente (Int?rieur III); Ein Kinderspiel; Pression. David Smeyers, clarinets; Michael Bach, cello; Bernhard Wambach, piano (CPO: 999 102)

Harmonica. Richard Nahatzki, tuba; Hans Zender/Rundfunk-Sinfonieorchester Saarbr?cken (CPO: 999 484)

Salut f?r Caudwell. Barbara Romen, Gunter Schneider, guitars (Durian: 018)

‘…zwei Gef?hle…’, Musik mit Leonardo. Benedikt Leitner, Robert Sedlak, speakers; Hans Zender/Klangforum Wien (Durian: 097/098)

Dal niente (Int?rieur III). Eduard Brunner, clarinet (ECM New Series: 1599)

Mouvement (­ vor der Erstarrung); Schwankungen am Rand; ‘…zwei Gef?hle…’, Musik mit Leonardo. Franck Ollu, Ueli Wiget, speakers; Peter E?tv?s/Ensemble Modern, Ensemble Modern Orchestra (ECM New Series: 1789)

Das M?dchen mit den Schwefelh?lzern (revised version). Eiko Morikawa, Nicole Tibbels, sopranos; Helmut Lachenmann, speaker; Mayumi Miyata, sho; Tomoko Hemmi, Yukiko Sugawara, pianos; Sylvain Cambreling/SWR-Vokalensemble Stuttgart, SWR-Sinfonieorchester Baden-Baden und Freiburg (ECM New Series: 1858/59)

F?nf Variationen ?ber ein Thema von Franz Schubert. Lars Vogt, piano (EMI Classics: 567-754446)

Dritte Stimme zu J.S. Bachs zweistimmiger Invention d-moll BWV 775. Trio di Clarone (EMI Classics: 7243 557003)

Pression. Benjamin Carat, cello (GRAME: CB0898)

Salut f?r Caudwell. Mats Scheidegger, Stephan Schmidt, guitars (Grammont: CTS-M 90)

NUN; Notturno (Musik f?r Julia). Gaby Pas-Van Riet, flutes; Michael Svoboda, trombone; Andreas Lindenbaum, cello; Jonathan Nott/Neue Vocalsolisten Stuttgart, WDR-Sinfonieorchester; Hans Zender/Klangforum Wien (Kairos: 0012142KAI)

Mouvement (­ vor der Erstarrung); ‘…zwei Gef?hle…’, Musik mit Leonardo; Consolation I; Consolation II. ensemble aisthesis; Walter Nussbaum/Schola Heidelberg; Hans Zender/Klangforum Wien, members of the Slovak Philharmonic Orchestra Bratislava (Kairos: 0012202KAI)

Serynade; Allegro sostenuto. Shizuyo Oka, clarinets; Lucas Fels, cello; Yukiko Sugawara, piano (Kairos: 0012212KAI)

Kontrakadenz; Klangschatten ­ mein Saitenspiel; Fassade. Gerhard Gregor, Peter Roggenkamp, Zsigmond Szathm?ry, pianos; Michael Gielen/SWR Radio-Sinfonieorchester Stuttgart, NDR-Sinfonieorchester, SWR-Sinfonieorchester Baden-Baden und Freiburg (Kairos: 0012232KAI)

Das M?dchen mit den Schwefelh?lzern (original version). Elizabeth Keusch, Sarah Leonard, sopranos; Salome Kammer, speaker; Mayumi Miyata, sho; Tomoko Hemmi, Yukiko Sugawara, pianos; Lothar Zagrosek/Staatsopernchor, Staatsorchester Stuttgart (Kairos: 0012282KAI)

II. Streichquartett, ‘Reigen seliger Geister’; Tanzsuite mit Deutschlandlied. Arditti String Quartet; Olaf Henzold/Deutsches Symphonie-Orchester Berlin (Montaigne Auvidis: MO 782019)

temA; Trio fluido; Streichtrio. Linda Hirst, mezzo-soprano; Martin Fahlenbock, flute; Uwe M?ckel, clarinet; Barbara Maurer, viola; Lucas Fels, cello; Christian Dierstein, percussion; trio recherche (Montaigne Auvidis: MO 782023)

Ein Kinderspiel; Guero; Int?rieur I; Pression; Toccatina; Wiegenmusik. Melise Mellinger, violin; Lucas Fels, cello; Helmut Lachenmann, piano; Christian Dierstein, percussion (Montaigne Auvidis: MO 782075)

Echo Andante. Steffen Schleiermacher, piano (Musikproduktion Dabringhaus und Grimm: MDG 613 1005)

II. Streichquartett, ‘Reigen seliger Geister’. Arditti String Quartet (Wittener Tage f?r Neue Kammermusik 1990, documentation CD)

III. Streichquartett, ‘Grido’. Arditti String Quartet (Wittener Tage f?r Neue Kammermusik 2002, documentation CD)

(Last updated on May 19, 2005)

15 Questions to Barry Schrader
“I don’t think “new” is that important a qualification for music.”, Barry says, “It doesn’t guarantee anything.” He speaks from experience. In the 70s, Schrader was one of the first to work with the now famous Buchla 100 Modular Synthesizer (also played by Wendy Carlos, among others) and at the forefront of a movement which would change the face of the music world forever. Today, meanwhile, his analog equipment from that period is mostly considered “retro” at best and, although only 30 years old, considered as out-of-date by many. Does this mean his pieces have lost their relevance? Only to those who prefer “novelty” over “musical quality” and following the trends over actually listening. On several discs on the Innova label, Schrader juxtaposes various elements, explores diverse concepts, touches on a multitude of styles and genres, engages in a dialogue with the past and mixes early tracks with new ones – all sounding equally fresh. It is hard to find a composer who has stayed similarly true to his original aims and principles, while still managing to create works of a contempary relevance: “Beyond” would make for an excellent lesson for Dark Ambient wannabies, “Lost Antlantis” is a confounding but highly rewarding fever vision between major and minor and “EAM” still has the power to irritate and provoke the critics. It all has to do with his focus on timeless aspects: “I’m interested in creating fixed musical works with specific ideas and meanings that don’t change.”

Hi! How are you? Where are you?
I’m fine, thank you, and am in my studio in my home in Palmdale, California.

What’s on your schedule right now?
In terms of composing, I’m working on “Monkey”, a long-term project based on the Chinese classic “Journey to the West”. I’ve been working on this for over a year and have completed two movements. I expect this project to take about two more years to complete. I’m also currently involved in organizing the SCREAM 2006 concert. SCREAM (The Southern California Resource for Electro-Acoustic Music) is something I began in 1986, and this is the 20th anniversary. This year we’re bringing back all of the original members of the group for a SCREAM Reunion concert next month (November, 2006). I’m also on the composition faculty of the CalArts School of Music, and this takes up a great deal of my time during the academic year. All of this, along with other professional and personal activities, keeps me quite busy.

What’s your view on the music scene at present? Is there a crisis?
Contemporary perspective is always difficult. When we look back on a certain period of music history, things seem rather simple to understand since the music has been filtered over a long time by many scholars and musicians. Styles have been defined and codified, and most of the compositional output of those periods have been deleted from serious consideration. Most people only know the works of few “great” composers of past eras. In contrast, we can easily see the work of hundreds of living composers, and this makes things seem more confusing when compared to a defined historical period. But if you had been alive in any given past period, you would probably have been faced with a situation similar to today in terms of the great number of composers and works that existed. Perhaps today’s output is greater than at any time in the past because of increased population. There is certainly greater access to what exists now because of recordings and the internet. But I suspect that, could we come back in a hundred years or so, we would find the music of the 20th century far more filtered and codified than it is today, and most of it may have largely disappeared. I say “may”, because until the 20th century, most music was not well-preserved or saved at all, whereas now a very large percentage of all kinds of music is recorded in one way or another. This may have an effect on what the future thinks of this period. Nevertheless, what I see and hear happening now is not essentially different from the past: Most music is created in imitation of something known or approved; very little is truly original. And when you take away works that are original only in the sense of being novel, there is even a smaller field to consider. But decisions on what is important are made by people and, in the short term, these are usually people with agendas.

As for whether or not the music scene is in a crisis, this depends on what you consider the definition of “crisis” to be. One thing that I think is certain is that the high art traditions of the past are dead or dying. Most of what are historically considered to be “great works” of the past, in any medium, are the result of high art traditions. These were elitist traditions, supported by the wealthy, powerful, and educated patrons of the time. All high art traditions have in common the requirement of a delay in gratification. It’s necessary to learn and understand the conventions of these traditions in order to appreciate them. As a result, there were, historically, the province of a select few. In the past, most everyone in a given society looked up to high art culture as something to respect, even though they may not have actually participated in it. With the rise of extreme consumerism in the 20 thcentury, economic and social forces increasingly catered not to the traditional elite, but rather to a constantly-lowering common denominator as a way of making money, the main goal of a consumerist culture. I call this the “attack from the outside” whendealing with the decline of high art culture in the 20th century and beyond. But there’s also an “attack from the inside” when it comes to art. In music I think this began, in a formal way, with Werner Meyer-Eppler’s attempt in the early 1950s to use information theory to prove that the audience was no longer relevant to “new” music, and that only the composers’ opinions mattered. Thus began the breakdown of the idea that music (or any area of art, for that matter) should communicate something from the composer to a more general audience (one not made up solely of other composers). Because of these attacks from outside and inside, “serious” or high art music has become increasingly irrelevant to the larger culture. Today, perhaps, we have for the first time in history a situation where the most important cultural aspects of society come from the most common (commercially viable) cultural sources. Is this a crisis?

What does the term “new“ mean to you in connection with music?
It could just mean that it was composed recently, having no relevance to any details of the music itself. In terms of what is often taught in college classes as “new” music, this doesn’t seem to have changed a great deal since I was a graduate student 37 years ago. To some extent people end up teaching what they were taught. Often “new” ideas are simply old ones dressed up in new clothes. A few years ago, I sent a copy of my “Five Arabesques” for clarinet and electronics to a clarinettist who requested composers send them works to consider for performance. He replied that he was looking for works in “the new style” of music, not the style of what I had composed. When I checked out what sort of works he was playing, it turned out that they were works composed in the styles generated by European serialism in the 1950s, ones that exhibited what are called “pointillistic” features. To me, this was a very old (and very tired) style of music, but to this performer, this was “the new style” of music which had obviously achieved some approved status with him. So I’m not always sure what anyone means by “new” unless they define it. Personally, I don’t think “new” is that important a qualification for music. It doesn’t guarantee anything.

How do you see the relationship between sound and composition?
On the surface, they would seem to be inseparable, unless you’re dealing with conceptual music. But there is a lot of music composed in the second half of the 20th century and beyond that doesn’t seem to care what it sounds like. I define two basic kinds of compositional procedures: “relational” and “translational”.  Relational compositional procedures are those in which the composer is combining the dimensional materials of music (pitch, duration, etc.) in order to relate (communicate) ideas in the medium of music.  These ideas may be, as Leonard Meyer notes, “embodied” (ideas dealing only with musical information, as in a Bach fugue) and/or they may be “designative” (ideas dealing with programmatic information such as in a Strauss tone poem). While both kinds of information are important, I believe that the embodied information is primary, as it’s in this area that the composer creates and conveys the musical idea or teleology of the piece. Relational procedures are ones that apply to how music creation and perception has evolved over thousands of years. They are plastic and can be expanded to create different ways of expressing meaning. They do this by dealing with the functional relationships among elements of musical dimensions. Translational works, on the other hand, have little or nothing to do with the evolution of music process, but rather take data from nonmusical mediums and translate it into musical information. Historical examples of translational procedures are serial composition and chance composition. Today’s algorithmic compositional procedures follow in this tradition and are, in my opinion, largely translational. In works that are essentially translational, there can be no teleology in terms of what is perceived as sounding music. Discussions of these works always deal primarily with the system or procedure that was used in the translational process, not what one hears in real time. Cage’s chance pieces, for example, have no consideration for the sounding result of the procedure used. In fact, Cage was very straightforward about this when he said that he created chance procedures to insure that the composer could have no personal choice in the decision making process. Whatever results as the “music” of these works is acceptable, as long as it’s the product of the translational procedure, not of personal choice. The same is true for serial procedures, which are just the opposite side of the same coin. So all that can be aurally communicated in a work created by translational procedures is the particular results of the particular application of the procedure(s). It’s like cooking with any or all ingredients at hand but with no regard for what the finished dish will taste like.  In works that are essentially translational, then, I don’t see that there’s necessarily much relationship between sound and composition except, perhaps, in a theoretical way. In my own work, however, the sounding result of the composition is primary as I believe that music only exists in being heard or in a memory of that hearing, existing as what I call a “linear-kinetic process”. I will occasionally employ translational procedures, but only in secondary ways. One of the basic reasons that I like composing with electronically-generated material is that it gives me great possibilities in exploring and creating new sounds (timbres) and manipulating them in time. Most of the timbres that I use are created for a specific piece, and I spend a lot of my compositional time exploring sound.

How strictly do you separate improvising and composing?
I think this is a very personal thing. For me, there is a very great separation. But I have colleagues for whom there is no separation, and they produce some remarkable results. As with the word “new”, I’m never certain what people mean by “improvisation”. I’ve heard jazz groups do the same set at different times and it seems to me they’ve created an “improvisation” which they’ve memorized and repeated with little change. Yet other jazz musicians seem to always create a different improvisation with each performance. You can’t improvise from nothing, so a musician is always dealing with something known and experienced in terms of improvising. I have done a little improvisation, both with electronics and with keyboards, but I don’t consider myself an improviser. For me composition is about problem solving: I create a problem and go about discovering the best way to solve it. I want as much control as possible and I want the final product to be as perfect as possible. I see my own compositional process like taking carbon and compressing it until it turns into a diamond which is then cut and polished into a final product as close to what I want as is possible for me to achieve.  This has little or nothing to do with improvisation in my mind.  Composing for me is slow and time-consuming, but, I hope, the final product justifies the effort. Improvisation is of the moment, fleeting, and, unless rehearsed, unpredictable. I’m interested in creating fixed musical works with specific ideas and meanings that don’t change.

How would you define the term “interpretation”?
There are two kinds, I think, in music:

Performers interpret the imperfect information that composers give them in notation to create a sounding realization of the work as they understand it. This is, then, in a very real sense, a collaboration between the composer and the performer. Performers with strong personalities (as well as abilities) are always preferred over those who seem to be giving a rote performance because they are able to communicate something of themselves to the audience.

Listeners interpret what they hear in the music according to their knowledge and experience. I’m fairly certain that no one else will ever hear what I’ve composed exactly as I do. The listener’s interpretation of the music they hear is, for them, just as important as the composer’s intentions in creating the work. For this reason, the same piece can be heard by some as brilliant music and by others as cultural noise.

Harmony? Dissonance? The freedom to choose both, none or just one?
I don’t think there is anything close to a dominant style for current music. Anyone can use any sound material (or lack of it) that they wish. The same is true of styles and compositional procedures. So there is an enormous amount of freedom. But freedom carries a heavy price. A work about everything is a work about nothing. Limitations are always necessary to produce coherence, if this is of importance to the composer. Since there is no ultimate context, everything is ultimately relative. But within a defined context, very little is relative. Within my own composition, the context is always defined, sometimes rather narrowly. So while I feel free to use anything, in a given work I always greatly limit the material. I seldom use concrete (acoustic) material in my works, choosing rather to build sound materials from electronically generated data. In any given work of mine, the musical dimensional information is usually quite small. I like to use a limited amount of material to generate large sections or whole works. I see this as an extension of developmental thinking. In “Duke’s Tune”, for example, I use a short melody composed by Duke the potbellied pig to create all of the pitch and rhythmic material in the piece. (You can see and hear Duke play his composition on my website.) In “Ravel” for piano and electronics, I use only two or three measures of material from Ravel’s compositions as the basic material for each of the three sections of the piece.  I’ve been composing this way for a long time, and you can clearly hear this in my older works such as “Trinity” from 1976. So freedom in regards to musical materials to me means both the freedom to initially choose whatever I want to work with, and also the freedom to limit myself as much as I wish.

A lot of people feel that some of the radical experiments of modern compositions can no longer be qualified as “music”. Would you draw a border ­ and if so, where?
I create borders for myself, not for others. There were “radical experiments” in the 1950s and 1960s, but I think it would be rather difficult to create one today. A lot of these “experiments” were primarily based on novelty. This approach burns itself out rather quickly, as something can be new or novel only once. Many of the movements developed during this period were negative ones; they were movements against stylistic aspects of the past. As such, they had little to offer in a positive way.  I see what I’m doing compositionally as a functional extension of the recent and not-so-recent past. I’m merely continuing a line that was set in motion long ago. I’m not interested in novelty for novelty’s sake. I try not to place my perspective on the work of anyone else, although it’s impossible for me not to see things through the same lens that I use for my own work. But this is as it should be. Everyone should decide for themselves what is it that they believe. Unfortunately, I think that most people hold beliefs that come primarily from two sources: indoctrination and fear. This makes the world a difficult and sometimes scary place to live in. People say that they like differences and individuality, but, in my experience, most people want invariance and conformity.

Are “serious” and “popular” really two different types of music or just empty words without a meaning?
I don’t think that “serious” and “popular” are sufficient to categorize all music. (Sometimes I speak of “commercial” and “noncommercial” music, but this isn’t a perfect solution either.) I remember back in the late 1960s when the film “Elvira Madigan” was such a huge hit that “pop” radio stations were playing the “Theme from Elvira Madigan” which was actually from Mozart’s 21st piano concerto. Did this music then, suddenly, change from “serious” to “popular”? People love to classify things so that they can pigeonhole them and think that they have some control over them.  Naming or classifying things has always had great power. Today  there are so many names for classifications of music that I think everyone is at least a little confused? What is “electronica”? What is “minimalism”? I often have little idea what people mean by these terms, yet they, and many more, are widely used. I have found the terms “classical”, “popular”, “jazz”, “electronica”, “new wave”, “industrial”, “experimental”, “contemporary”, “computer music”, “acousmatic”, and more applied to my works. In a way, I’m flattered that it’s not that easy to categorize what I do. On the other hand, there clearly is some confusion as to what any given term means.

Do you feel an artist has a certain duty towards anyone but himself? Or to put it differently: Should art have a political/social or any other aspect apart from a personal sensation?
This is a very difficult question to answer because you have to consider the imposition of social and political factors which change with time. You also have to consider whether or not you’re referring to a “work for hire” such as a film score. If you’re trapped in a sociopolitical situation from which you can’t escape, then you either work within the confines of that situation, take a risk by ignoring it, or you don’t create. If you’re hired to compose something for a specific purpose, you’re doing a job and need to please your employer. But let’s suppose that none of these is the case and that the composer (artist) is relatively free (no one is ever completely free) to make this decision for themselves. Then, I think, the answer depends on whether or not the composer wishes to communicate something to someone. If the answer is yes, then the composer assumes a responsibility. If the answer is no, then there is no responsibility. But, I would ask, what is the point of creating something if you don’t want to communicate something to someone? The only answer, it seems, is ego, tending towards solipsism. In a world literally without others, everything would be meaningless.

True or false: People need to be educated about music, before they can really appreciate it.
It really depends on the music as well as the person who is trying to appreciate it. The idea that music is a “universal language” is nonsense. “Music” is not a monolithic thing, even though all music (musics) must deal with the same dimensional information because of the limitations of human perception (hearing). Nevertheless, the organization and presentation of sound materials can differ widely from one culture and/or age to another. In some cases, people really do need education in order to understand and appreciate certain music.

True or false: The cultural subsidies doled out by governments are  being sent to the wrong kind of people and institutions.
If you’re one of the people or institutions being subsidized, then  the system is great; if not, it stinks.  To the extent that subsidies  create activity, then, at least in some general sense, they are  positive.  But all subsidies, whether from governments or individuals  are political in the sense that they  are made with reference to an  agenda.  More often than not, this agenda is the continuance of the  status quo, assuming that this is producing the desired result on the  part of the donor.  So politics is always involved.  It’s always a  positive accomplishment to win an award or get a grant.  Yet, I am interested in going over lists of recipients of well-known awards or grants from the past and noting how few of the names mentioned ever did anything of lasting interest. But I don’t think this matters to those who are giving the subsidies. Where composers are themselves involved in the decision-making process they often (not always, but often) choose someone they know and like or someone who composes in a way similar to themselves. I suppose this is just human nature. The one area that I think is unfortunate is that much of the support for the arts has, perhaps out of necessity, developed into a museum mentality. In music, millions are spent on keeping orchestras and opera companies alive, primarily to reproduce, over and over again, the same historical body of works. Perhaps the degree to which a society promotes this stagnation says something about the way it views the importance and uses of art. In some societies, like the U.S., there’s a cultural attitude that if what you’re doing is any good, people will pay you to do it. So, outside of the museum culture which is safe and glamorous, little in the way of noncommercial art is supported. Unfortunately, this seems to be catching on in other societies as well. In the U.S., colleges and universities have largely taken over the function of subsidizing most areas of noncommercial contemporary art. It’s a little like the function of the Church in medieval Europe in terms of supporting new art. This, perhaps, has created another form of stagnation, but that is another topic.

You are given the position of artistic director of a festival. What would be on your program?
I’ve been in this position, and have presented hundreds of concerts in my life. In the past, particularly with large, multiple-event situations, I’ve tried to present representative works from as wide a variety of styles and composers as possible. From 1973 to 1979, I was the director of “Currents”, the first, I think, non-academic ongoing series of electro-acoustic music concerts in the U.S. This series introduced the public in Los Angeles to many composers for the first time and was quite varied. Since Currents, I’ve produced many other concerts, two other series, and founded SEAMUS (The Society for Electro-Acoustic Music in the United States). I have continued to promote variety. At this point in my life, however, I find myself  tending to want to present those works that I personally think are excellent.

Many artists dream of a “magnum opus”. Do you have a vision of what yours would sound like?
No. I’m not sure that a composer always knows that a given work is his best or what would fill the requirements of a “magnum opus”. Perhaps I’ve already composed one.  Perhaps I’m working on it now. Perhaps I’ll never do it.  I imagine, however, that if one did do  this and knew it, it might well be the end of one’s composing career. It’s probably better just to keep on composing without thinking about this. If a composer’s music survives their death (a big if), eventually someone will declare this or that work the best, a masterwork, or some such accolade. At that point, no harm can be done to the composer in question.

Picture by Frank Royon

Discography:
EAM (Innova)
Lost Atlantis (Innova)
Beyond (Innova)
Fallen Sparrow (Innova)