radical sonic futures
the hum
the layer
the subharmonic
the height
the width
the depth
the tone
Room tones are not sound. They are architecture, singing. A space, a shelter humming around us. A structure made sonic and present in multiple modes for us to inhabit.
A room tone might be my favourite thing.
I spent some time as a guest composer at Elektronmusik Studion (EMS) in Stockholm recently:
It was a tremendously inspiring time, and while I was there for 10 days, I never really got over my jet lag, going into the studios at all hours. There were a number of fantastic spaces there, all of which had slightly different capabilities in terms of gear and sound.
The thing that I thought so incredible, though, was the very strong commitment from the staff that EMS was a public good. This went beyond the funding they received from the Swedish government (the studio celebrates it’s 60th year this year), but is rooted very strongly in the genesis of the institution (housed initially in a worker’s building and undergoing many shifts in outlook and equipment). At every turn I heard and experience the studio as being a gathering place for new sounds and ideas. The composers-in-residence do not have to pay anything for access to the studios, and are invited on the basis of the ideas they wish to explore at the studio.
As a result, you get a very broad range of practices and age groups, and the potential for cross-inspiration is great. I thoroughly enjoyed my time there, not just for my own work but for the conversations I had with the staff and the artists there.
Looking forward to working on the piece I started there. Stay tuned.
Putting on my touring musician hat again after some time to play at Cluster in Winnipeg. I’ll be performing my quadraphonic Rückstreuung project, which made its debut at the Museum of Contemporary Art Toronto. Here’s an excerpt from that performance:
As you can see from the video, it’s really about architecture and space. The quadraphonic dissemination is explicitly chosen to allow for the tones to intersect and create rhythms and to allow the listener to discover tones that are located in specific places. Moving from one space to another reveals different sound interactions.
The project was created at Akademie der Künste during a residency at the Studio for Electroacoustic Music, where I was able to experiment on the venerable Subharchord, one of the few still functioning:
Here’s where I ended up (thanks to Robert Lippok for taking the video):
Since I don’t have a Subharchord (boo) I’m using a Moog Subharmonicon, which uses the same principle of audio synthesis. The “sub” in both those names refers to the fact that instead of overtones from a fundamental pitch (which is what many synths do), these instruments divide the frequency to create subharmonies to the fundamental. Tuning these sub levels results in intersection of tones, and the use of a filter further allows one to shape the quality of the sound.
I’m really looking forward to going back to Winnipeg. I’m playing at a venue that I was at the opening of, the West End Cultural Centre – in fact, I think my mom performed at that opening. I’ve played there many times since, and it’s going to be nice to go home and explore that space with sound.
See you there?
UPDATE: I found this so I’m going to try and build it in Max/MSP. It’ll probably take me a year. ↓
Further to my last post, the next major research port of call is the venerable Elektronmusikstudion in Stockholm, where I’m working on a new project that will depend partly on data and information about high altitude wind currents. You can read a bit about it at the EMS website.
So, you know. Snooping around the intertubes to look for some data, some inspiration. Et voila! I give you: the Global Wind Atlas.
The internet is amazing.
I’ve been working hard my first season at the Stratford Festival on three different shows. I’ve met many incredible people – actors, technicians, directors, administrators, support staff, the list goes on.
I’ve often thought earlier on when I was playing more music that I was grateful for the friendships I had, because I mostly played music with my friends. I wasn’t put in the same position as, say, a jazz musician who might play with a different quartet every night, or a jobbing musician – I largely played music with the people I loved.
As I spend more and more time in the world of theatre, I find that these new connections and friendships remain a large part of my creative life. They nurture me and give me energy to deal with the myriad pressures and logistical surprises that come from working in the larger (and very large!) venues that I am finding myself in sometimes. I stay grateful and open hearted, and I’ve been rewarded with a rich community of new friendships, that filter into the work I’ve been doing telling stories.
I like this way of working – enjoying people’s company, depending on their skill, collaborating and telling stories on many levels. It makes my work richer, and I’m glad that I move this way through the world.
some thoughts, captured on video
part of series on canadian percussionists by ken shorely
full series here
A city is enveloped in haze – magnetic and electrical fields; pollution; particulates; light; sound; smell; language; transportation; water vapour; incense; the smoke from cooking fires; information; cabling; subsonic tremors; ambition; desire.
This haze is arranged in layers. Aeronautical regions and flight paths – 1 layer. Cell phone towers and signal repeaters – another. Power lines, roads, sewers, subways and those grids buried deeper. History. These make up only a vanishingly tiny few of those layers that surround and support the being of the city. They rattle and jolt the populace and affect them in countless other ways. The city actualizes itself.
The systems designed to make sense of the city by its inhabitants are in effect created by the city itself. It requires these infrastructures to strengthen its impact on the earth, its own selfhood. In that regard those that build to make sense of the city are in fact merely executing its will rather than their own. Our building of the city, our struggles to come to grips with it and its function – we become cells in a body, DNA executing programmed codes to strengthen the host and keep it alive, healthy and growing. It is not its inhabitants that use these systems, it is the city itself, sending us on a million small errands to keep itself vibrant and alive.
There are new options available to the city as new developments in technology, architecture, construction and engineering arise. Growth in three dimensions is more possible and issues surrounding high level dwelling are addressed in order to give the city more of a place on the earth, or rather to allow it to concentrate its resources and offset the energy drain of self maintenance.
For make no mistake, fatigue is a real possibility. The Arab Spring, the Gezi Park protests, PEGIDA – the fatigue of this city plays a part in these events, and has indeed always had a hand in the events that stand out in human history. Urban planning, urban health and social justice, politics, science, engineering, immigration, food safety, sustainability and green energy, economics – the city’s involvement in the arc of new thinking and developments in these fields is clear.
I am sitting in the theatre (as I often am these days), watching actors and directors and other creative people tear apart words to find meaning and intent and moments that resonate. Would that we live our whole lives like that from moment to moment. But then would we need art?
I like to tell stories. I’ve begun to see a pattern in the many projects I undertake – a desire to tell stories. These are not always the stories that have a beginning, a middle and end – sometimes they are the stories that I carry in my body and hands.
I recently played a concert that was the kind of presentation that is more conventional than the ones I often find myself in – a large hall, filled with people and with a band on stage. I realized that even here there is a story I am telling when playing a piece of music as part of an ensemble. It is the story of the years of practice, of (sometimes) frustration and (often) joy, and the slow dawning of the realization that I cannot be all things, I can only be myself.
I used to feel bad that I was “untrained” and feel that technique was lacking. That may be true, but in the many many years that I have been working at my craft and art, a kind of understanding has arisen, an understanding that I, myself, have a voice and a story to tell as part of the accumulated experience of my heart, mind and body. And that story is one that is worth sharing, because it is unique – mine and only mine.
So the theatre work that I do, the many artists that I collaborate with, the sound art and radiophonic works I create – they are all part of this unique story of me. And while this post is in danger of sounding self aggrandizing and egoistic, this is only because I cannot put into words properly what this story means in the larger world around me. It has meaning, and it is only one small cell in the giant organism of sound and being.
A story can be read many ways – it is strongest when it is open, allowing many streams of interpretation at once. To discover and present these streams to the viewer through sound is my job.
In creating sound for drama, and in particular on the stage, we have 2 concurrent sets of demands – those addressing logistics of the performance space and those addressing storytelling. These 2 sets must work together, so that sound highlights aural characteristics that are integral to the setting while at the same time participating in the development of the arc of the play – the emotional journey of the characters and the id of the story. Sound becomes one of the collaborators in the performance of the text, be it on stage, through a speaker, or on a screen.
Radiophonic art is also a kind of theatre, a theatre for the listener wherever they might be. My lessons from the stories I’ve accompanied often make themselves felt in these poetic spaces. The rhythm of the text. Where and what becomes emphasized. These are decisions I get to make when shaping these works, and the theatre artists (and musicians and dancers and choreographers and filmmakers) I have collaborated with over the years participate through the moments I sculpt as a composer.
Stories are strongest when they are open and distilled. They contain secrets that are revealed through unexpected channels – a look, a word, the sound of a footstep or the echo of a hallway, the fall of light across a floor. I look for and discover these secrets, and they guide my hand and ear in the making of the music. They whisper to me, and I whisper back. Together we offer our small contribution to the many pieces of the story that comes to your eye and ear, and moves you.