go to the center

mandala 2

Go to the center of the sound, get it in the center, then spin out…stripping away the filigree, go to the center.
Bill Dixon

…that fragile, fluctuating center which forms never reach.
Antonin Artaud

Andrew Lafkas composed 1+1= year zero (water/moon) with eight fellow musicians in mind, players he has come to know as collaborators and friends since moving from Minneapolis to Brooklyn in 2004. Like Bill Dixon, whom Lafkas credits as one of his principal mentors in matters of composition and what Lafkas calls group intuition (collective improvisation), these specific relationships with fellow musicians are crucial to imagining and realizing a sound work. Lafkas’ intensive study with Dixon can be heard in his approach to the structure and organization of his pieces, as well as in the more intangible matter of going to the center of a work, sounding out, to reference another Dixon term for the quality of improvisation, its delicate secrecy. As many times as I have listened to this fine release (and its 2012 predecessor, Making Words, for 11 musicians, five of whom appear on 1+1), that quality, even as it reveals itself in sound, remains largely ineffable.

1+1 is devoid of filigree, beautifully distilled, rooted firmly in the loamy still-point of Lafkas’s arco drone; while rising occasionally to crescendi, for nearly an hour the ensemble sustains its proximity to the center, their melded sounds and silences an environment in which a sliver of a rising guitar figure, a closely heard raspy catgut string, or the piano clusters crashing at the piece’s midpoint, feel forcefully, improbably dramatic.

Dixon’s notion of going to the center, as I think of it, and specifically as I listen to Lafkas, evokes the idea of the mandala; referred to in contemporary terms as sacred geometry, whether applied to Platonic arithmetic or the meticulously fine construction of the sand mandala, there is a sense of a space in which myriad details and micro-events coalesce around the center, the heart of a thing. Interesting that the label Lafkas helms with partners Bryan Eubanks and Cat Lamb is called Sacred Realism; Lafkas told an interviewer in 2013, previewing 1+1‘s performance at Brooklyn’s Roulette theater, Over the last few years, when asked what type of music I play, I have found myself more frequently responding with “sacred realism”. This leads to all sorts of issues – and even problems – of its own, but I have found that it also leads to much more interesting and engaging conversations. A mandala is a precise modeling of an ineffable reality, with a very basic utility – to support the meditator’s practice. When playing and listening, Lafkas told the interviewer, I find my mind and body slowing down. I have started to recognize this as a place of music, a place to be attentive in. In fact, and I trust inadvertently, there is a section beginning at about the 50 minute mark of 1+1 bearing some affinity to the ritual horn and percussion music heard in Tibetan ritual music.

Lafkas’ group intuitions are realized by superb musicians whose collective sound is more about presence than most ensembles of comparable heft and musicianship. With each new listen you can hear the vibrancy of their individual colorations, the precise pitch of their rising and falling voices – the remarkable thing about 1+1 is that for its duration, the center holds.

lafkas 1

Andrew Lafka
1+1=year zero (water/moon)
Sacred Realism | 2014

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Dixon quoted in Andrew Raffo Dewar, Searching For The Center of A Sound: Bill Dixon’s Webern, the Unaccompanied Solo, and Compositional Ontology in Post‐Songform Jazz

Photo (colored stones): Jaron Childs

Photo (Lafkas): Peter Ganushkin

Photo (Tibetan monks constructing a sand mandala): photographer unknown

the unanswered question

OliviaBlock-600

A little over a year ago composer Olivia Block’s Karren was released on Sedimental Records. Published simultaneously with Mike Bullock’s Figures Without Ground, these two recordings would be the last of the label’s CD releases – Sedimental proprietor Rob Forman decided to close shop after 20 years of cataloging, among a number of fine releases, Block’s inaugural work, 1999’s Pure Gaze.  Asked once in an interview to choose a release from the Sedimental catalog that he considered “quintessential”, Forman picked Pure Gaze. He has remained a champion of Block’s work, releasing half of the eight titles bearing her name since her 1999 debut. Fittingly, Sedimental’s swan song this year was a DVD of Block’s project with filmmakers Luis Recoder and Sandra Gibson entitled Aberation of Light: Dark Chamber Disclosure.

Anyone following Block’s work as long as I have has come to appreciate a striking aspect of her compositional practice: she is continually experimenting with the dualities inherent in her sound materials and structures – dualities of organic/inorganic, of coherency/chaos, of pitched sounds/noise, of inside/outside (in any number of senses), of foreground/background; and, with Karren – an orchestral/concrète work that Block released following six years of her characteristic process of meticulous assemblage and editing – the idea of front and back stages. The nomenclature of stages comes from the astonishing early work of the sociologist Erving Goffman; front and back stage are aspects of the dramaturgy of interpersonal styles the author developed in his first published work in 1959, The Presentation of Self In Everyday Life. Block references Goffman’s theories in the notes she wrote for Karren as follows – Erving Goffman’s dramaturgical metaphor described in The Presentation of Self in Every Day Life is a lens through which the entire composition, presented on vinyl, might be viewed as a metaphor for the self. 

I haven’t seen a reference to Goffman’s ideas in any other musical project I can recall; I was intrigued to read Block linking the front and back concepts, as Goffman articulated them, to music, as I first encountered his theories nearly 40 years ago while doing my clinical training at a psychiatric facility. I was, for a time, very taken with the work of the British and Scottish psychiatrists David Cooper and R.D. Laing, radical clinicians associated with the so-called anti-psychiatry movement. If you swam in those waters, you’d inevitably encounter the sociologist Erving Goffman, who published a book in 1961 entitled Asylums. Goffman’s work provided us with pith quotes for the zeitgeist, like Society is an asylum run by the inmates. He also developed rich metaphorical language to describe a duality inherent in every social relationship; the imagery of front and back stage refers, broadly, to how we navigate between our socially appropriate persona (front stage), and the self we experience when we set aside social roles and identities (back stage). Goffman used the language of the performative self and the definition of the situation (referring to how we engage in power struggles with others to establish provisional social realities). All is theater, spectacle, and we are endlessly slipping between performance and a highly protected back stage, maintaining the front, shielding the back. Of course these metaphors hardly seem radical at this stage, and given the necessarily reductive presentation of Goffman’s theater of social and interpersonal control and manipulation of borders and boundaries; I simply want to suggest, with these bare bones from Goffman’s work, that Karren can be heard as experimenting with the duality of the front and back stages in ways that, intuitively, we already hear.

Block’s approach with Karren is to sound those dualities distinctly, front and back, but also to cause the piece’s initially discrete parts at certain points to intrude, collide, impose, and enmesh with each other. This approach is heard across much of her work over the years, previously woven from electro-acoustic materials and small chamber voicings; on Karren, the composer at last had access to an orchestra (the Chicago Composer’s Orchestra) attuned to moving fluidly between scored pitches and improvised noise, location recordings and massed strings, riding woozily on waves initially serene, but increasingly pitched toward capsizing (in this last regard a little reminiscent of Block’s fantastic Heave To from 2007). Most overtly, Block uses the dual-sided medium of vinyl to present Karren‘s two movements as back stage concrète (Foramen Magnum, the A-side of processed location recordings), and the reasonably conventional front stage orchestral music (Side-B’s Opening Night, a movement that I think subtly slips into its own back stage, as I suggested above).

Within each movement, however, you might hear, as I do, the composer as syncretist, bringing the back stage footfalls, chortles, throat-clearing, and tunings into spheres of calm and control; and in the case of Opening Night, the serene, floating world of musicians entrained to an idea of order is gradually subsumed by what sounds like mulched hand-claps, a crunchy sound reminiscent of sections of Pure Gaze and Mobius Fuse. Block is always experimenting with the boundaries of Goffman’s definition of the situation, the situations of front and back, unity and difference, inside and outside – it occurred to me listening repeatedly to Karren that Block has continued exploring, without wavering, the borders and boundaries of sound first heard in Pure Gaze fifteen years ago.

Finally, The Unanswered Question – I chose this title at first as I kept thinking of Ive’s piece when listening to Opening Night. I’ve been unable to shake that link – it’s not an overt resemblance to Ive’s masterwork of concision and clarity. It’s particular tensions in the respective pieces, and the elemental tension throughout the pieces, that hook them together for me. Both are sound collages with slow, calm strings, passing tones spiked with moments of agitation, dually owning a sense of harmony and dissonance, independent tempi, a front stage intruded upon by a back stage uninterested in image management.

Block’s body of work rides, in part, on the unresolvable quality of unanswered questions; she’s drawn to sounding out these dualities with a range of materials and approaches, fixed, fluid, improvised and composed. Karren is a rigorous work, and owns a momentum that will be self-evident to anyone who listens through the composer’s work from Pure Gaze to the present. It also owns, however, a sense of unquiet and transience; in an interview with Tobias Fischer, who asked her about boundaries between music and non-music, Block said, I try to deal with this question in my work, because I don’t know the answer, but the question is important to me.  

Olivia Block
Karren
Sedimental | 2013

Note: to the best of my knowledge, the 500 print vinyl edition of Karren is sold out at the source; on December 1 an update was posted on the label site, saying “Karren is out of stock until April 2015; please contact Sedimental to get on the waiting list for availability at Sedimental@earthlink.net”

both forward and back in history

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Michael Vincent Waller offers miniatures after La Monte Young, short duration works that hold the seed-syllables for long duration extemporisations; unlike the seeds cooked by Young, Waller’s mentor of five years, Waller allows his five pieces to expire upon tracing themselves in your memory. They hardly overstay their welcome – instead their figures recur naturally long after they are essayed by the fine pianists Megumi Shibata (#1 – 4) and Jenny Q. Chai (#5). Waller has crafted romantic trance fragments, revivifying counterpoint and drop-dead melodies, but holding those seeds of potential endless expansion. Debussy, yes – but also antecedents as divergent as Thomas De Hartmann’s Gurdjieff works (brief studies that also contain multitudinous facets within the 3-5 minute duration range), and the fine composer/pianist (disparaged by that taxonomical kiss-of-death, “New Age” music), W.A. Mathieu.

Waller’s regard for tonal color pervades throughout a fairly broad range of themes, from serpentine melancholy to stately, insistent passages that sound as if they were composed for an imaginary but no less important occasion. While quite dissimilar from Laurence Crane’s sound world, Crane came to mind several times in one regard –  listen to how Waller, as he put it in an interview just prior to releasing Five Easy Pieces, imbues his miniatures with an increasing potential for reformation of the mould, how beautiful melodies, chromaticism and the insistence of minimalism breathe anew, when presented with Waller’s sound and structure, and the pianist’s touch.

Waller has clearly used the models in his immediate lineage (mentors Young and Bunita Marcus) in his own process and practice; as he said about his own aha! experience when, as an even younger man (the composer is 29), he first encountered the shock of the new – … in terms of the first music that struck me as original, it’s hard to really say – but, maybe the Beatles’ White Album provided one of my first senses of magnitude, of something timeless and truly original. I felt this the first time I listened to Schoenberg, Bartok, Stockhausen, Xenakis, Ligeti, Feldman, Satie, Mozart, Debussy, Ravel, Brahms, Bach, Beethoven, and many more. It is the same feeling that is continually revitalised, recontextualised, and expanded; both forward and back in history.

There is obviously nothing easy about creating pieces that revitalise and expand one’s antecedents – like Crane, Waller is patiently expanding out from their shadows, faithful to the elemental, while offering something present in time and being. As I said when writing about Crane in this regard, I have no earthly idea how they do it, only gratitude for what Waller makes, moving forward and back, forward and back.

Michael Vincent Waller
Five Easy Pieces
Self-released EP | 2014
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