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electroradio
Paul Dolden (Ottawa, Ontario, Canada, 1956) • residence: Montréal, Québec • composer • performer
Articles about Paul DoldenRecord reviews are found in the pages for each disc (via the “discography” tab).
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Beyond Postcards from the Concert Hall: A Written Exchange with Paul Doldenby Jeremy Owen Turner in Musicworks #96 (Canada), September 1, 2006 |6236|
“He draws hostility from classical music audiences, but the international awards keep
accumulating.”
Paul Dolden is known for his explorations of post-production techniques, striving to create a wholly new concept of the recording. Going well beyond a memoir of the concert hall, he explores the potential of the recording as a piece of art in and of itself. His electroacoustic pieces are in fact meticulously notated, massively multi-tracked compositions of acoustic instruments, with parts numbering in the hundreds — creating the paradox of acoustic compositions impossible to perform live. The often hostile reactions that Dolden’s work draws from those in the classical realm highlights the attitude to technology that prevails there. His technological practice and perceived loudness frequently place him at odds with listeners. His earliest album, The Threshold of Deafening Silence, has an almost industrial tolerance for perceptual loudness. More squeamish listeners usually found his earlier artistic expression to be overwhelmingly abrasive, confrontational, and alien. Many wondered if this was deliberate. I corresponded with Paul via e-mail about his artistic practice; his experiments with alternative tunings and his surprise return to equal temperament; the role of technology, philosophy, aesthetics, and culture in music; and his own compositional aspirations. Paul Dolden: Ninety-eight per cent of the music that people hear, they hear through loudspeakers, without the presence of live performers; yet music continues to identify itself as a performing art. Classical musicremains almost hostile towards technology. Its practitioners think it will put them out of work and/or ruin their “authentic” acoustic concert-hall sound. Yet DJs and rock and jazz musicians have proven that the medium can be used to create interest in their live performances, and to expand the technical possibilities of musical instruments. They understand and manipulate the recorded medium in order to get their point across. Note that these are the most popular musics. The most important musical revolution of the twentieth century was not serialism, minimalism, or new complexity, but the introduction of technology into every form of music making and consumption. Technology has completely changed the social and economic situation of the musician. My own work springs from a desire to make recordings that are more than postcards from the concert hall. I am interested in using technology to create music that we cannot perform live, and that we can barely imagine when performance is the criterion for diffusion. I want to create recordings that are inexhaustible for the listener. The density, the number of musical and audio parameters that are being constantly adjusted, allow for hearing the recording repeatedly, and with each listening new musical relationships emerge. The published audio work — the recording — becomes the final artistic statement. The recording becomes the art object rather than simply a documentation of a performance or an advertisement for a band. In this sense, it is the recording as an art object that now contains the “authentic” experience. One significant advantage to creatively transforming the recording process from performance document to a stand-alone artwork is that it allows instrumental events to coexist in a way that could not be possible in the real world. If we also appreciate the recording itself as a discrete art form worth our aesthetic attention, we could learn to reawaken our hearing and musical sensibility and be able to transcend our stereotypes of what constitutes a live experience. For example, one soft flute part played romantically could, through mixing in a recording studio, become louder in the mix than forty microtonal screaming trumpets played in a free-jazz style. This is very simple to do and it is only the beginning. The reason for producing recordings that have the widest possible orchestration is because such a possibility exists for the first time, and we are no longer confined to using the recording medium to represent one configuration of sound sources in one imaginary space. Recordings that replicate concerts typically set up an imaginary proscenium arch in which the focal point is static. The listener is presented with a number of sound sources that more or less evoke a real-world performance. My mixed pieces are often disorientating for the chamber music lover because I destroy the transparency and intimacy of chamber music by using dense, large sounds. For the musicians, the works can be disturbing because they involve redefining many musical relationships. The type of recordings I have been trying to produce has upset the listener’s passive concert-hall relationship by constantly changing soundfocus, depth, density, sound sources, and music style, while maintaining a cohesive musical experience. Jeremy Turner: Given your advocacy of the mediating role of technology in music, why do you still write works for live instruments and tape? Paul Dolden: I love working with musicians, and audiences want to see something when they go to a concert. Concert-hall writing is a continuation of my studio practice. If I am writing for a dark-sounding instrument such as bass flute, viola, or bassoon, I will produce the tape part so the live element cuts through. Therefore, one can finally hear a driving bass-flute part with a taped accompaniment, produced for the needs of the soloist’s sound, performed by three heavy-metal rhythm sections—that’s three of everything: electric bass, distorted rhythm guitar, and drums. This is not an original idea, and is no different from a singer whispering, “I love your post-production techniques” over thrashing guitars, bass, and drums. What becomes more surreal in my mixed works is the different types of sonic and musical worlds, and how quickly I can transform these worlds. I should also add that my live parts are generally written for the live musicians to show off their skills. Perhaps it is my years spent as a jazz musician, but I still feel audiences like to be wowed by live musicians. Most groups have spent a great deal of time developing an ensemble sound. In my mixed works, I am asking the musicians if I can join their band in the form of a tape part. They must now develop a playing strategy and relationship with this new member. On the bright side, this new member will always be in tune, on time, and will not talk back. Jeremy Turner: Besides density, you have a preoccupation with polyrhythms and new tuning systems. Paul Dolden: My preoccupation with these musical concerns evolved out of a search for a musical language that would accommodate several hundred simultaneous musical parts. In dense romantic music, such as Mahler’s Symphony of 1000 or Havergal Brian’s Gothic Symphony, there are hundreds of performers, but the music is largely four-part writing with extensive doublings. Between 1955 and 1965, there emerged two writing techniques in which the standard sixtypiece orchestra started playing sixty different musical parts (Ligeti’s micropolyphony and Xenakis’ stochastic music). However, I would argue that a sixty-piece orchestra is not large enough to demonstrate stochastic behaviour, and that four hundred or more parts are needed to reach musical entropy. The possibility of highly articulated, transparent micropolyphonic music is reduced when forty of the sixty instruments are of the same string timbre. By contrast, almost all of my scores use simultaneously fifty to one hundred different musical instruments, each of which contributes four to eight tracks. Micropolyphonic clarity is increased when each instrument has a unique attack, timbre, resonant structure, etc. My virtual orchestra may be the world’s largest orchestra, but the arco strings are usually sixteen of the 400 tracks, or four per cent of the total sound, rather than sixty per cent of the sound. After establishing my approach to orchestration, I realized that in order to have 400 unique musical lines, I needed more than twelve notes per octave. To further increase clarity, I needed blocks of sound to be moving at very distinct velocities, or the use of large, primary-number-based polyrhythms. At this point I realized I was producing a music that could only be created in the recording studio, one part at a time. To answer your question about new tuning systems: between 1980 and 1993, I only used microtonal tuning systems that I myself developed for each piece. From 1993 to 2003, I wrote in equal temperament, and have now returned to writing microtonal music. From the beginning, I rejected the idea that every note has an exact frequency. What about all the frequencies between each of our existing notes and new combinations of vibrations? In addition, I have been creating works in which a new tuning system is used every minute, and sometimes I use multiple tuning systems at the same time—once again using the recording studio to create a music that could never be realized in real time. To this day, I am struck by dissonant contemporary music that limits itself to equal temperament. Equal temperament was developed over hundreds of years in order to modulate triadic harmonies through different keys. The dissonance this system gives is a by-product of this system, and represents less than one per cent of all possible dissonances. Moving on to rhythmic organization, we must remember that Western musicians cannot perform polyrhythms more complicated than five against four. By contrast, I will have, say, three different parts each playing fifteen, sixteen, or seventeen notes in the same time period, creating a perfect 17:16:15 polyrhythm. Many score pages can include forty different tempi with each tempo driving five to twenty parts. Sometimes, bar lines between all the parts only line up every twenty seconds. This is clearly beyond the abilities of any conductor. Rhythmic accuracy is maintained in my work by using separate click tracks for each level of velocity. The result is a form of counterpoint through polyrhythms. I should add that these concerns of microtonality and polyrhythms are not emphasized in the music on my new CD, Délires de plaisirs. My musical focus on this CD is melody and modulation in equal temperament, and counterpoint achieved through multiple lines at the same tempo. What a concept! Now I understand what fun composers have been having for the last few hundred years. Jeremy Turner: Since your work revolves around exploring the potential of recording technology, to what degree do you feel it is important to document your notational processes? Do you still feel a need to connect and communicate your ideas to a musically trained audience? Paul Dolden: As far as my scores go, this is merely my way of organizing my thoughts. Yes, I do write the scores before I record anything. However, this is because it is impossible to just grab 400 tracks of sound and arrange them on 400 tracks so that they make musical sense. The scores for me are like a script — a set of directions for making the piece. Indeed, it could be argued that my sounds have so much post-production that they no longer resemble the sound descriptions found in the score. What or who is the musically trained public you refer to in your question? People who are musically trained are working professionals. We no longer have a subculture of amateur musicians who form the basis of our audience. Musicians in training can study my scores. However, no one seems to know the scores exist. For what it is worth, they are at the Canadian Music Centre libraries across Canada. Jeremy Turner: Many of your works were, and often are, still greeted with hostile reactions in the concert hall. One such audience member might wonder whether you are intentionally trying to disturb people. Paul Dolden: If I were to place the “Dolden orchestra” of 400 performers in one room, it could get as loud as 200 dBa and you would be instantly deaf. However, I produce recordings in which each person is recorded one at a time. When assembled together, I play it back at normal listening levels. Because of the density and post-production techniques, the music may seem louder than it actually is. The ability to make a recording appear louder than the actual decibel level is the Holy Grail of every commercial music engineer. For example, the kick drum in popular-music recordings sounds like the huge orchestral bass drum, and yet somehow maintains the fast articulation of a normal kick drum. Another sonic illusion is in the recordings of guitar amps that sound twenty feet tall, yet behave like a plucked mandolin. Cutting through both these sounds is the softly whispered lead vocal line, “I love your post-production techniques.” Jeremy Turner: In your new work, what is your attitude towards romanticism? Paul Dolden: Romantic music was a reaction to the perceived dryness of baroque music, with its advanced counterpoint puzzles. Therefore, one has to take the entire romantic attitude with a large grain of salt. Romanticism in music also occurs at the same time as the great man, the hero, and the rugged individualist emerge in the popular imagination. Romanticism is a Western movement, focused on Western man. By contrast, we are all part of a living culture that is now global and that transcends time and place, because recordings allow us access to all types of music from different eras. Most of my musical concerns of microtonality and polyrhythms spring from non-Western music that is thousands of years old. I dream of a music that is a musical blend of my entire collection of CDs, from the counterpoint and textural concerns of the modernist composer to the melodic and groove concerns of popular and World music. I find lots of music to explore in the area between romantic, self-indulgent expression and the emotional flatness of modernism, which emphasizes the materials of a work over the individual. Résumé français: Le compositeur de musique électroacoustique Paul Dolden est bien connu pour ses compositions multipistes aux proportions épiques dépassant de loin les normes établies en matière de technique de performance et de goût. Bien que Dolden se consacre entièrement à ces compositions intenses et complexes depuis vingt-cinq ans, la confusion demeure quant à la façon de catégoriser son travail. Cette confusion ne l’aura toutefois pas empêché de remporter plus d’une vingtaine de distinctions internationales qui l’auront aidé à convaincre bien des gens que ses compositions extroverties occupent une place légitime dans la sphère de la musique nouvelle.
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Reviewby Tom Sekowski in The WholeNote #11:1 (Canada), September 1, 2005 |6058|
“… yet another work of genius from this much misunderstood Canadian
composer.”
Always a composer who has understood the meaning of density in a work, Paul Dolden returns once again with Délires de plaisirs ([featuring the work] Entropic Twilights). If you’re wondering if Dolden has softened his edge for the complex multi-dimensional rhythm tracks and computer-generated layers, the answer is a plain, resounding no. The album sees him in full control of his virtual orchestra. Of course, it’s an orchestra on paper only, as his computer is fed the various instrumental parts, which are then neatly (or less neatly - depending on the composer’s mood, I guess) organized into individual tracks. If you thought his other works were dense, wait until you hear the title piece - which comes complete with noisy guitars, altered percussion, some flutes and this thick, thick layer of distortion. All in all, Dolden had to go back and absorb new production techniques in order to come up with the precise sound that he was looking for. We’re talking about relentlessly dense multi-tracking here and the result is absolutely a work of wonder. Just to be able to hear this piece without an opinion is next to impossible. Some may call this a work of a madman. It’s obviously not a work for everyone as the novelty and uniqueness of it may scare the fans of the more conventional. But if you’re looking for something new and challenging, Délires de plaisirs is yet another work of genius from this much misunderstood Canadian composer.
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Paul Dolden: le plaisir du sonby Guy Marceau in SOCAN, Paroles & Musique #12:2 (Canada), June 1, 2005 |967|
“Aux atmosphères très prenantes s’ajoutent de larges citations musicales, dans
une orgie de références très ludiques.”
Une équation se dessine d’emblée lorsqu’on écoute L’ivresse de la vitesse (1992), une des œuvres de Paul Dolden qui a fait l’unanimité des milieux musicaux contemporains ici et en Europe, et qu’on écoute le volubile compositeur parler de son art. À bientôt 50 ans, avec une propension à l’excès, l’accélération et l’accumulation des plans sonores, Paul Dolden parle aussi vite que la musique qu’il compose, mais ralentit un peu lorsqu’il clame ne pas être un vrai électroacousticien. Comment le situer? Paul Dolden, né à Vancouver mais vivant à Montréal, a tout du compositeur atypique mais passionné de musique. Très easy going, cheveux longs, relent du freak qu’il était dans les années 70, attitude un peu désinvolte et joyeusement pince-sans-rire, il est surtout très allumé et non élitiste. «Même si on compose la musique à l’aide de machines électroniques et numériques, il faut toujours rester dans le plaisir organique, de la même manière qu’on écoute simplement Led Zeppelin ou Brahms par exemple, explique Paul Dolden. Je ne suis pas un électroacousticien au sens de Robert Normandeau, par exemple, notre travail est très différent. J’aime notamment intégrer à ma musique des instruments acoustiques et des emprunts au rock ou au jazz, des styles que j’ai toujours eu beaucoup de plaisir à écouter. Ma musique parle plus au corps et au cœur qu’à la tête.» Dolden fait mentir l’adage Less is more. Il excelle dans la surimpression de styles musicaux disparates, «pas pour en faire de bêtes pastiches, précise-t-il, mais bien pour exploiter les grandes beautés de ces musiques dans une orchestration imposante que la machine me permet de réaliser et qu’aucun orchestre ne pourrait jouer. Dans mes œuvres, je peux superposer jusqu’à 400 couches musicales pour créer mes sonorités…» À l’écoute, en effet, sa musique parle à tous nos sens: puissante, obsédante et parfois décadente, toujours hautement chargée et recherchée. Il combine ce souci de l’ordre dans le désordre, l’idée de vitesse dans le contrôle, en exploitant les textures, ryrthmes et sonorités sur l’échelle élastique du temps au profit d’une plasticité des plus incarnées. On pense parfois à Varèse ou Zappa, mais toujours dans un «traitement électronique sensible». Autodidacte Rockeur dans l’âme, Paul Dolden apprend à 16 ans la guitare électrique, puis le violon et la basse en solo. Il s’est même récemment mis au violoncelle! Las de faire de la scène (rock, jazz) dans des spectacles et avec des groupes à géométrie variable de Vancouver, il se lance dans l’expérimentation électronique au joyeux temps de la technologie analogique. «La nécessité est la mère de toutes les inventions. En cherchant de nouvelles façons de faire ma musique, j’ai découvert toute la quincaillerie électronique des années 70. C’est fou ce qu’on peut faire avec ça! Mais, tout comme maintenant, la machine était un moyen, pas une fin en soi.» Ses bidouillages créatifs font mouche au Canada: dès 1981, Paul Dolden remporte des premiers prix coup sur coup. «Avec ces prix, on me disait entre les lignes que la musique que je composais était ce qui se faisait de mieux au Canada! Alors j’ai continué, pensez-donc!» Et des prix, il y en aura plus d’une vingtaine d’autres. Presque chaque année, une de ses œuvres reçoit une récompense par ses pairs de l’industrie musicale contemporaine et électroacoustique canadienne. La bonne nouvelle se répand ensuite hors de nos frontières et dès 1984, ses œuvres sont primées en Italie, France, États-Unis, République Tchèque, Suède, Angleterre… Un pied de nez à certains autres compositeurs canadiens, puisqu’il n’a pas le profil académique universitaire requis, mais bien seulement un baccalauréat en histoire générale… Revisiter ses œuvres Pour qui voudrait entendre le fruit de sa créativité, l’essentiel de ses enregistrernents figure chez empreintes DIGITALes. Son avant-dernier, Seuil de silences (2003), remportait en janvier dernier le Prix Opus du disque de l’année dans la catégorie Musique actuelle, électroacoustique. L’album réunit des œuvres de 1987 à 1996 où, à la trame numérique, s’ajoute le jeu de trois solistes, Julie-Anne Derome (violon), François Houle (clarinette) et Leslie Wyber (piano). «Il faut savoir qu’avec la venue du numérique, j’ai décidé de remixer toutes mes œuvres… Compte tenu que pour réussir à produire une pièce de 15 minutes, il me faut souvent plus de 50 heures de travail, j’en ai eu au total pour un pou plus de deux ans!» Paul Dolden dit avoir fait ce travail pour rendre justice aux œuvres elles-mêmes, qui devenaient ainsi plus précises, plus efficaces et plus sonores. Rétrospective en Suède Après plus de 20 ans de carrière, et quelque 40 œuvres plus tard, la reconnaissance ne s’est pas démentie. À la fin avril, Paul Dolden était l’artiste invité au Borderlines Festival en Suède où l’on présentait une rétrospective de ses œuvres (12 pièces, dont deux créations, en neuf jours). Et l’affiche était prestigieuse: aux côtés de ses œuvres, 12 signées Gyorgy Ligeti, un des importants compositeurs du 20e siècle, Ligeti et Dolden partagent certaines approches et techniques d’écriture, notamment dans la complexité polyrythmique. Dolden était en quelque sorte le porte-parole canadien d’une facette de notre paysage musical contemporain électroacoustique, ce qui visiblement l’enchante. Un projet en chantier? «Toujours! Je travaille présentement sur une installation sonore à grande échelle qui se tiendra l’an prochain pendant un mois à la Galerie Diapason de Manhattan (New York).» Avril a vu la parution de son dernier disque, Délires de plaisirs, regroupant des œuvres remixées dont Entropic Twilights (1997-2002) pour bande en trois mouvements, The Gravity of Silence. Resonance #5 (1996) pour flûte et bande, et The Heart Tears itself Apart with the Power of its own Muscle. Resonance #3 (1995) pour 10 cordes et bande. Aux atmosphères très prenantes s’ajoutent de larges citations musicales, dans une orgie de références très ludiques. La musique force l’écoute et ne laisse pas indifférent. On peut en écouter des extraits sur le site d’empreintes DIGITALes au www.empreintesdigitales.com.
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Gala des prix Opus 2004by Réjean Beaucage in La Scena Musicale #10:6 (Québec), March 1, 2005 |935|
“La musique électroacoustique est également sortie du gala la tête
haute…”
[…] La musique électroacoustique est également sortie du gala la tête haute, mais ne s’est pas pour autant privée de montrer les dents! En effet, le compositeur Robert Normandeau a utilisé une bonne partie du mot de remerciement qu’il prononçait pour Luigi Ceccarelli, récipiendaire du prix du «concert de l’année - musiques actuelle, électroacoustique», donné dans le cadre de la série Rien à voir (14), organisée par Réseaux, pour apostropher le Conseil des arts et des lettres du Québec et le nouvel Espace musique de Radio-Canada. Les deux organismes seraient en effet coupables de laisser à eux-mêmes les artistes ayant choisi de s’exprimer par l’électroacoustique, un art dont le Québec est certes l’un des meilleurs représentants à l’échelle mondiale, Normandeau faisant lui-même figure de chef de file dans le domaine. Le «disque de l’année - musiques actuelle, électroacoustique» est allé à Seuil de silences, de Paul Dolden, publié chez empreintes DIGITALes, et le «livre de l’année» est celui de Stéphane Roy, L’analyse des musiques électroacoustiques; Modèles et propositions, publié dans la collection Univers musical chez Harmattan.
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Speed Freakby John Keillor in The Wire #230 (UK), March 1, 2003 |551|
“… Paul Dolden’s lush, bizarre concrete recordings have finally come of
age in the speed-soaked digital era.”
“Electricity has changed everything about music,” declares Canadian electroacoustic composer Paul Dolden, “instrument design, presentation, circulation, etcetera. Even simple amplification completely changes the sound of the music and the way we experience it.” Dolden’s immersion in the electronic age has paid off aesthetically - the freshness of his palette makes listeners reappraise the possibilities of strings and winds. Every timbre he touches seems re-energised. Dolden once studied in Vancouver, and it was there, at the Arts Club Lounge, that I met him to discuss his extraordinary music, some of which was highlighted in The Wire’s “100 Records That Should Have Set The World On Fire” (issue 175). The disc in question, L’ivresse de la vitesse, was released four years earlier in 1994 on empreintes DIGITALes, and it has just been remastered with the newest and cleanest sounding audio technology. In fact, between 2000-2002, Dolden reformatted his entire catalogue from analogue tape to digital for same label’s 2003 reissue programme. Meanwhile, a disc of all new Dolden material is due out later this year. Evidently his music blooms in the digital age - it certainly flourishes in the clarity of computerised precision. For his part, Dolden refers to his output as ‘recordings’, not ‘works’ or ‘pieces’, as his compositional methods can only be realised in the studio. Though Dolden is now based in Montréal, he still looks West Coast. Tall and lanky, he wears his hair long and his jeans cut-off short with sandals on his feet, looking more like an environmentalist on call than a maximalist, postmodern electroacoustic composer. Our animated conversation swerves between delineating his artistic influences, musical economy and any number of other topics flying by too fast to accurately record. But it’s a friendly affair, basking in perfect weather and lubricated by microbrewery beer. L’ivresse de la vitesse (Intoxicated by Speed) is typical of Dolden’s compositional method. It is built up from hundreds of tracks of acoustic instruments that have been extended, reduced and layered. All the parts were originally written out, with click tracks prepared for the performers to work from. By way of treatments, Dolden usually accelerates the musical line to hyperkinetic speeds, pushing them out to non-idiomatic extremes, well beyond human performers’ capabilities. With so many tracks, many subject to compression, reverb and more even as they’re brought into perfect rhythmic alignment, Dolden’s composing style is nothing if not excessively labour-intensive. It takes him at least a month, working about 50 hours per week, to get down just one minute of recorded music. But the pay-off is a lush, bizarre assemblage of tone colours often dovetailing into one another through slippery crescendos and diminuendos at mind-boggling speeds. Equally unique is Dolden’s handling of stark contrasts between blocks of sound that first infect and then subsume each other in the blink of an eye. An unknowable conquest in sound appears complete, only for the music to wink at you and carry on. The dramatic impact of these chilling events would make Edgar Varèse proud. But Dolden himself might add that his own originality is magnified somewhat by most other contemporary composers’ unwillingness to embrace today’s technology. “I am just a contemporary guy who is using everyday tools to make his music,” he insists. “These tools are part of being a contemporary professional musician everywhere except in the classical music tradition. I cannot remember the last concert I paid admission to where the live musicians were not amplified. Only orchestras and chamber musicians refuse to feel the flow of electricity under their skin.” Dolden’s handling of mixed chorus is especially effective. His treatments make them sing faster and with greater angularity than is humanly possible; his percussion sections, meanwhile, gleefully transcend the mind’s ability to follow a rhythm, as they’re transformed into a sparkly aural wash. Dolden’s selection of colours is never static. He combines saucepans with brass, didgeridoos with electric guitars and gamelan orchestra, his constantly changing palette scintillating and seemingly limitless. His music is saturated with rhythmic motifs unifying disparate genres and blocks of colour. The completed original piece itself tends to become the springboard for a further series derived from the basic score, invariably accompanied by a soloist. For instance, L’ivresse de la vitesse is the flagship of the Resonance series, the first of which, In A Bed Where The Moon Is Sweating, features a virtuoso clarinet part floated over ferocious oceans of computer bent percussion. Seconds later, the soloist’s sanguine evocations are back with the patter of an apparently amphetamined-up orchestra, pitched somewhere between the electronic soundworld of Harry Partch’s microtonal Yankee Doodle Fantasy and The Residents’ better recordings, with tiny, understated moments of Maurice Ravel’s orchestral skeins, all flowing effortlessly together. Though Dolden is open to a multitude of musical forms, he actively dislikes the more academic aspects of electroacoustics, an attitude he shares with a fellow Canadian, the late concert pianist Glenn Gould, who quit the concert stage in 1964 to devote himself exclusively to recording. As early as 1965, Gould began splicing together his own alternative renditions of various classical pieces to achieve his ideal interpretation. For example, he patched two separate takes of the A minor fugue from JS Bach’s Well Tempered Clavier to produce a sound that switches gear from a solemn and legato opening to a skittish and staccato middle section in a way even a player with unsurpassable technique such as Gould wouldn’t have been able to repeat live. Dolden’s music expresses a comparable dissatisfaction with human limitations. “Think of me as a latterday Glenn Gould,” he encourages. “Gould saw the possibilities of the recording studio for achieving his own musical ends, as have I. He gave up live performances in the mid-1960s for recordings only. The same is more or less true of The Beatles, who mostly quit live shows around the same time and instead concentrated on a new kind of recording - the concept album. They, Gould and myself are all taking the live experience further. Whether you are listening to myself, or Gould late in his career, or Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, or a Massive Attack CD, the thing they have in common is that you are listening to people perform on musical instruments, enhanced by the engineer.” With his studio-centric methods of composition, problems of speed, dexterity and idiom do not get in his way. But while Gould was a radical conservative, invigorating established music through technological means, Dolden’s recordings are practically unclassifiable. Most ‘maximalism’ rarely, if ever approaches the rigour necessary to encapsulate his music. He is, in essence, a composer for the postmodern age. The eclectic nature of Dolden’s statement summarises his outlook: everything is up for grabs. Preexisting sounds and styles are natural resources for his industry and, being Canadian, he has basically no experience of resources running low. ‘Postmodern’ is promiscuously applied to lots of different music, often as not neither ennobling or illuminating its subject in any meaningful way. Dolden’s music, however, makes clear how postmodern theory can be applied to music. In his recordings, a thrash Metal surge contains as much density and complexity as would a Baroque concerto movement, a World beat jam or a modernist 12-tone episode. His musical postmodernism signifies, in Francis Fukuyama’s widely discredited phrase, the ‘End of History’, wherein all kinds of music are held to be of equal value. But his soundscapes are first and foremost visceral, where the whooshy click ’n’ cut ambience of so much current electronic music makes more cerebral demands, even as the engineering is often surprisingly shoddy, technically speaking. Dolden’s work, by contrast, is immaculately produced. It’s also brutal like a Mike Tyson uppercut and chic like Andy Warhol’s Studio 54, with just a whiff of sensual corruption. “In the end,” he says, “my music has more to do with rock and jazz and Ligeti or Xenakis than it has to do with what is commonly referred to as ‘electroacoustic music,’ which could be defined as a period of music produced by technology that flourished in France in the 1960s and 1970s and is currently imitated by primarily university teachers throughout the world.” His estimation of popular electronica is comparatively generous. “There’s not much actual music in a track by, say, Autechre, but their production is marvellous.” Dolden’s music might be comparatively urbane, but it is also restless, hovering defiantly among the categories that threaten to absorb and ossify his creative spirit. This restlessness is inherent in the man himself. He complains constantly about most of the music that fuels his own creative energy. In separate interviews he has asserted that contemporary composition is a dead tradition, and so too are jazz and improvisation. He has nothing good to say about electroacoustic music, and he has referred to rock and dance music as “stupid”. But in essence his battle is with the limitations of categorisation. Categories make him bristle, inducing hyperbolic, even irrational outbursts. Indeed, he sometimes won’t even admit to being a classical composer at all, as that label flies in the face of his postmodern call for ongoing stylistic blurring and fluid aesthetic identity. Dolden is nonetheless a kind of classical composer, albeit a singular one. His money comes from the usual conservatory sources - from compositional prizes and government funding. Further, his music begins with a written score, and musicians who identify themselves as classical players usually record it. It’s also easy to discuss his recordings with that telltale, classically oriented, benevolent fussiness. “I bitch about a lot of people’s music,” he says. “But I will listen to music for hours on end, every day. I have a huge record collection. It encompasses every imaginable form of music from every part of the world. On the average day I’ll toss on Mahler, Led Zeppelin, jazz and Techno, for instance, and love it all. “The problem is that I hear the lack of spontaneity in classicai composition, the lack of improvisation in other forms of written music. I wonder why these musical traditions can’t learn from each other? You won’t see the classical crowd at a jazz concert and vice versa, and rock is disdained by all who consider themselves musical artists. I love the strengths in every type of music, such as the power of rock, the unfolding complexity of new or old classical music, the wild spontaneous personal aspect of improvisation, the hypnotic trance aspect of contemporary dance music and many forms of World Music. But then I wonder: why can’t I hear a music that appeals to all these ways of listening and feeling?” But reconciling the attractive elements of different kinds of music is not the process by which Dolden expends his energy. Rather he recasts various musical styles into spiky relationships that generate a new kind of tension. Observing the broad strokes of his recent output, L’ivresse de la vitesse and the Resonance cycle - each piece featuring one of his colossal tape soundscapes and an accompanying soloist - the emphasis is on a massive textural effect. Tetrachords and simuitaneous tonal centres galvanise the music’s resolve with shifting, glacial harmonic energy, except when the music, molten lava-like, pours through his transpositions and sequences. Other times, these same techniques sound courtly, even gallant in character. It’s all quite a kick in the pants to hear such methods, many of them hundreds of years old, sounding either tempestuous or genteel, within swathes of extreme density and colour. And Dolden never repeats the same musical argument, for he’s no forager through the terminal zones of his own ideas. After L’ivresse de la vitesse, the next big project was Entropic Twilights and the tangential, self-plundering Twilight series of 1997-2000. Their sound departs from his earlier material in the way individual lines and melodies are emphasised; harmonies take more of a back seat, reduced from 40-plus parts to merely four, giving them more directional power but less density; the canvas is smaller. It’s also sweeter stuff, gentler, shrugging off some of the more forcefully dissonant, maximalistic predilections of his youth. It’s stirring to hear this side of a composer, whose music was once synonymous with overwhelming volume and speed. “The main point is that I am writing pop music-like melodies with contemporary counterpoint and wired harmonies and scales,” he asserts, adding, with a shade of irony, “and most important is that everyone can sing along and tap their feet.” The melodies are also often funny, with an optimistic or sometimes comically sinister lilt. “I cannot believe that concert audiences never laugh at the obviously ridiculous music moments I set up,” he despairs, “while Joe [Average] hears the humour and gets it immediately! In the Baroque period it was considered impolite for a composer to be ‘serious’ in his or her message. Music of the Romantic period changed that. Contemporary music needs to reacquaint itself with a sense of lightness.” Entropic Twilights has a deceptively simple sound. The second movement, for example, begins with an edgy, portentous pop ambience that resembles the ingredients of a dance track’s pre-beat introduction. But instead of coagulating into funk or an explosion of breakbeats, the opening notes left hanging in the air begin to unfold like a Baroque movement. A regular rhythmic beat starts up below, but it in no way resembles the timbres or patterns of a conventional drum kit. And yet, as the listener reappraises the situation, the displacement of these elements rapidly begins to make sense. Disco melodies, African power drumming and Palestrina-like polyphony come into play, not in a battle for domination but to coincide concurrently. The new material on the Entropic Twilights disc upholds his reputation of unpredictability and innovation. Purists may bicker, but until they come up with something as flashily insighfful as combining sounds suggestive of both Rachmaninoff and The Ramones, Dolden will remain the go-to composer of the 21st century. “I always felt like a kid in the candy store of all the music of the world,” he concludes. Paul Dolden’s CDs are released on empreintes DIGITALes.
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Portrait: Paul Doldenby François Couture in All-Music Guide (USA), August 1, 2001 |419|
“L’ivresse de la vitesse […] consecrated him as a
leading figure in sound art.”
Canadian electroacoustic composer Paul Dolden managed to work from within the musique concrète institutions even though his art should have placed him at its very margin. Known mostly for what has been coined his “esthetics of excess,” he stirred the otherwise very calm waters of the genre with his works for tape in which he piles up hundreds of layers of acoustic instruments. His 2-CD set L’ivresse de la vitesse remains a classic of fin de siècle electroacoustics. Born in 1956 in Ottawa (Canada), Dolden studied in Vancouver, where he still resides. At first an electric guitarist, cellist and violinist, he toured across Canada and Europe. This hands-on experience with “real” instruments explains his decision to approach tape music without the use of acousmatics. The composer does not use the standard techniques to mold the sounds. He works instead by accumulation, mixing together up to 500 tracks of individually-recorded instruments, in order to obtain the textures he wants. The 1990 Tronia CD The Threshold of Deafening Silence presented his first results and sent an initial shockwave into the academic musique concrète community. L’ivresse de la vitesse (empreintes DIGITALes, 1994), a longer and more conceptualized album, consecrated him as a leading figure in sound art. He was invited to numerous festivals, had residencies at the Groupe de Musique Expérimentale de Bourges in France and the Electronic Music Studio in Sweden, and won an impressive number of awards since his first steps in 1981, including three first prizes at the Bourges International Electroacoustic Music Competition (in 1986, 1988 and 1990). Dolden collaborates regularly with artists of the Vancouver new music scene. He wrote for John Korsrud’s Hard Rubber Orchestra and helped François Houle for the tape part of his conceptual album Au cœur du litige.
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Densité et classicismeby François Tousignant in Le Devoir (Québec), February 22, 1999 |6025|
“Encore une fois vendredi soir, Rien à voir nous en a mis plein les
oreilles.”
Encore une fois vendredi soir, Rien à voir nous en a mis plein les
oreilles. L’invité, Beyond the Walls of
Jericho a été l’occasion de prendre véritablement conscience de l’originalité
de Strate de son sur strate de son, l’espace sonore se remplit avec une telle densité qu’on en est vertigineusement étourdi. Le volume atteint des niveaux assez élevés, tant dans l’épaisseur des couches sonores qu’en termes de décibels sans qu’on soit agressé; on en redemande même, comme d’une sensation physique — caresse à la frontière indéfinissable et si intense entre la jouissance et la douleur — qui drogue. Ce qui est merveilleux chez Ici, Dolden ajoute le rythme, cet obsédant martèlement tiré du rock, pour aller plus loin dans l’exploration. Magicien hypnotique, il joue sur des attentes pour mieux détourner l’attention du concret au profit de l’idée. En sortant, on se dit qu’on a entendu là un créateur qui réussit le pari de visser sans appel son auditeur à son siège et lui faire parcourir un trajet aussi senti que vrai. Dhomont La soirée consacrée à La musique de On peut regretter deux choses, la première, que le compositeur ait présenté des extraits, ce qui dilue le potentiel expressif des pièces ainsi sorties de leur contexte. La seconde, qu’il ait choisi de diffuser une pièce d’art radiophonique, Simulacres: un autoportrait, qui, si on entend bien qu’il a sa place à la radio, tombe royalement à plat en salle et ennuie sans espoir possible. Il le sentait bien, lui qui s’est presque excusé de l’allure pédagogique que son travail prenait en ce contexte. Cela a malencontreusement entaché toute la joie du concert. Ceci dit,
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100 Records That Set the World On Fire, While No One Was Listeningby Betty Davis in The Wire #175 (UK), September 1, 1998 |280_4|
“[one of the] 100 Records that set the world on fire”
Canadian electroacoustic composer Dolden champions a ‘theory of excess,’ a belief that the intoxication and seduction of information overload is a desirable condition, one that frees us to perceive the world afresh. L’ivresse de la vitesse compiles nine devastating sonic manifestos to make his point. Several hundred painstakingly scored and multitracked solo acoustic instruments collide to produce a super-dense musical black hole that even Iannis Xenakis would have shied away from. Trying to actually follow the impossible complexity drags you across the event horizon into a world where consciousness survives but meaning has been obliterated. Futile relief comes on a few tracks where virtuoso soloists battle in vain against the taped chaos Nirvana or nihilism? No matter, you can listen to it a thousand times without wanting it to make sense.
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Bang Out an Old Soft-Shoeby Kyle Gann in Village Voice (USA), June 3, 1997 |6026|
“… and as with all of Dolden’s music, you had to admit
that his mind-boggling computerized detail creates timbres possible in no simple
way.”
[…] Dolden’s shtick is fantastically complex computer music using samples or orchestral instruments with textures of more than 200 lines at once, so dense that the ear can’t possibly make out individual lines. Admittedly, his The Frenzy of Banging on a Can was a makeshift attempt to work live instruments into his mix, and the Bang on a Can All-Stars, for all their hectic virtuosity, pretty muchdisappeared into the taped cacophony, presumably as planned. It was a chaotic mess, but a really interestingly articulated mess, and as with all of Dolden’s music, you had to admit that his mind-boggling computerized detail creates timbres possible in no simple way. The resulting noisefest left some listeners ready to wring his neck, others (like myself) stunned by the pandemonium.
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Reviewby Hal London in Array Online #17:2 (USA), June 1, 1997 |242|
“His performance […] gives further evidence of his mastery of the sonic
resources at his disposal.”
There is so much musical output contained on these two discs that it took me several listenings to come to grips with it all. In the liner notes, Dolden describes his current artistic intentions as involving the “speeding up of an excess of musical ideas so that the composition and its materials exhaust themselves in the shortest time possible”. Most of the works here reflect this principle in different ways. Another perceptual factor in listening to these pieces is the manner in which Dolden intersperses pieces for tape alone with works featuring solo performers backed with material from the solo tape compositions. This approach has the twofold effect of emphasizing hitherto unstressed aspects of the tape pieces and also of blurring to some extent the distinctions between the individual works. These considerations aside, Dolden constantly varies his approach, not hewing to a quick-cut, sound-mass approach to the exclusion of linear development. Dolden first composes simultaneous lines of music on manuscript paper, then digitally records each line as performed by an acoustic instrument. The parts are then digitally mixed with little or no signal processing. His exclusive use of acoustic instruments is justified by his opinion that electronic synthesis techniques are unable to produce a large palette of convincingly different timbres. A huge palette of acoustic sounds are used tor these pieces, including nearly every orchestral instrument, voices, ethnic and folk instruments, and percussion. And although he does not use signal processing, he occasionally achieves DSP-like effects through ingenious mixing of his sound sources. The mixing often involves overlays of 40 or more tracks, and the massed effects and climaxes achieved are impressive. His use of digital editing is equally responsible for the results, as the pace and mood of the pieces are largely controlled this way. The title cut and the last work in this collection, both for tape alone, could not be more contrasting. L’ivresse de la vitesse (1992-93), encapsulating as it does the composer’s more recent methods, is an exhilarating outburst of contrasting ideas and styles at a rapid-fire pace. Veils (1984-85) is a halfhour, 3 movement composition which explores a sonic world of subtly shifting timbres, comprising drones on acoustic but ambiguous-sounding origin. After the adjustment is made to the leisurely pace of this piece, it is thoroughly satisfying. With the exception of these two pieces, I gravitated toward the pieces that featured solo instruments because of the focus they provide. This may be because Dolden does not emphasize spatial placement in these wtirks. Often, the sound struck me as completely up-front and two dimensional. No doubt this is partly because he eschews most signal processing,but the overall sound of the acoustic instruments tends to be a little washed-out. Experimenting with different microphones and preamplification should help — quality of engineering is important when this approach is taken, especially when there is extensive mixing and overlaying. The solo instruments help to impart more of a spatial quality. Revenge of the repressed, Resonance #2 teatures a performance by cellist Peggy Lee which ranges from fleet passagework to elegiac phrases and extended techniques. The harpsichord part in Physics of seduction, Invocation #2 takes on a thunderous and threatening aspect in the hands of Vivienne Spiteri, thanks to Dolden’s multitracking and close-miking techniques. Two pieces feature saxophonist/clarinetist Francois Houle. One of these, In a bed where the moon was sweating, Resonance #1, strikes a perfect balance between the virtuostic solo clarinet part (often multitracked with amazing etfect) and the tape part with its echoes (or “resonances”) of preceding events. Physics of seduction, Invocation #1 features the composer on electric guitar in a technically adept performance which also makes use of the processed timbres which are the domain of the instrument. Dolden shows a flair for these changes of tone. His performance on guitar here gives further evidence of his mastery of the sonic resources at his disposal. Hal London is a freelance, part-time composer who divides his time equally between acoustic and electroacoustic music. Dolden’s approach in this respect is of special interest to him.
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New-music concert a lively, varied eveningby Richard Todd in The Ottawa Citizen (Canada), May 1, 1997 |6028|
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Sonic Boomby Robert Jordan in The Georgia Straight (Canada), March 20, 1997 |6027| […] Far more engaging was Paul Dolden’s The Gravity of Silence. Resonance #5, for flute and piccolo (both excellently played by Chenoa Anderson) accompanied by taped sounds. The Gravity of Silence turned out to be a volte-face for the typically irascible Dolden — it sounded as though he was having fun sending up classical showpiece clichés. This tonal and melodious music is a long way from the noisy, chaotic territory his music usually explores.
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Interviewby Thomas McLennan in Musicworks #64 (Canada), May 1, 1996 |6049|
“With his emphasis on a maximalist æsthetic, he walks a compositional
tightrope…”
Paul Dolden has been touted by many critics as one of the most original and innovative musical voices to take us into the next millenium: a fin de siècle artist. With his emphasis on a maximalist æsthetic, he walks a compositional tightrope by combining traditional western music practices with electroacoustic techniques, non-orchestral instruments, and the energy and drive of popular culture. Dolden has kept in sight the fact that one can be simultaneously entertained and challenged by the conceptualization of a reality never dreamt of before. One is seduced on many levels: by the virtuosic manipulation of musical language; the myriad gestures, colours, and contrasts; the speed; and the vigorous forcefulness of expression. One can be held in a state of rapture in the presence of music of such unreal beauty, but this sphere of existence continues long after the music stops. The voluptuous sound world of Paul Dolden always leaves one motivated to contemplate oneself and the world in novel and fantastical ways. Since 1981 Dolden has won eighteen national and international awards for composition. These include three first prizes and a Euphonies d’or at the Bourges International Electroacoustic Music Competition in France, and, most recently, Canada’s Jean A. Chalmers Award for his composition L’ivresse de la vitesse. His works have appeared on numerous recordings includinq two solo CDs. Thomas McLennan: What in your mind creates a good performance of a piece for live instruments and tape? Paul Dolden: First, you must have a good sound system and everyone must know their musical parts extremely well. Beyond this, a richer musical experience happens when the performers know the tape part extremely well and therefore can play in a manner which seems as if they anticipate or lead the tape’s gestures, colours, rhythms, etc. If the live parts are played with this type of savvy, then the difference between the live part and tape seem to disappear and the two components seem to be working together on the same musical goal or idea. I should say that this illusion is possible only when the writing of the live and tape parts relate to each other timbrally, rhythmically, harmonically, and melodically. What is musically boring is if the performers sound like they are just following the tape, or are “slaved” to the tape. Could you comment on your reuse of materials in the current works of the Resonance cycle for live performer and tape. The mother piece for the Resonance cycle is the tape piece L’ivresse de la vitesse. All of the works for live instruments and tape in the Resonance cycle at particular moments allude to, or “resonate,” to the mother piece. This self-quotation is intentional and is an attempt to deal with the balancing of old and new information in the musical discourse. Moreover, it becomes a type of musical play or game of recognition, semi-recognition, and non-recognition. This game plays with musical memory which is the basis of musical structure. In the same way, the Walls cycle uses the Walls of Jericho tape pieces as a basis or “resonator” for the soloist and tape cycle entitled the Physics of Seduction. Invocation #3. Therefore, I am usinq the word “cycle” in its historical sense as each of the cycles could be played in their entirety and produce an evening-length work. Reflect on musical performance as you perceive its importance to musical language and composition. It is hard for me to imagine not having the experience of being a performer and trying to be a composer. Instrumental and vocal performance is the living history of musical thought and gesture, and to really understand instrumental writing a background in performance is necessary. Also, during a performance, whether it is for six friends in the front room or more than 800 at a professional concert, there is an excitement, an adrenalin rush, and a certain type of concentration that one can understand as a performer. To write utilizing that energy and style of thought will always lead to more interesting music. In the last two years, performance, for me, has taken two directions. I no longer play other people’s music. I have learned two of my own compositions, one for guitar and tape, and one for violin and tape. This process has informed me of what it’s like to play one of my scores, and what it’s like to be a soloist with a tape accompaniment. The other type of performance I am doing is free improvising on guitar, violin, and cello. For me this is primarily an exploration of sound and gesture that I keep more private because I do not find it musically profound. It is a process to go through in which i enjoy the discovery of combining notes, sounds, and colours wliich sometimes feeds back into my compositional practice. How do you retain a balance between the individual character of instruments and orchestration with so many tracks? (For example your work with 400 tracks or musical parts occurring simultaneously.) First of all understanding orchestration, and secondly, engineering. In terms of orchestration, it is important to understand how each instrument sounds in each register, and what happens when different instruments are combined. This goes beyond a textbook knowledge and requires a good aural memory because there are endless permutations. Important aspects of this are knowing which instruments mask which sounds, and which ones fuse with others at particular dynamics and/or ranges. After one has created a score of notation, this must be translated to a recorded signal which is well produced. For my music, the most important aspects of engineering are: microphone placement during the recording of instruments; submixing (because I do not have a 400 track board to control levels between different members of the orchestra); and panning and equalization. Panning is not used much because each track is a beautifui stereo image using a particular technique of stereo microphone imaging. What is more important is which instrument receives what type of EQ curve to achieve a particular musical sound. As far as maintaining the individuality of instruments, my work in the ‘80s was primarily concerned with the concept of the fused sound, therefore there was a decreased emphasis on being able to hear a particular line or instrumental colour. Over the last few years I have become more interested in hearing individual lines or groups of lines in the multiplicity of 400 parts. Could you comment on your present exploration of twelve-tone equal temperament? And, do you see this continuing? Tuning has been very important in my work. In the ‘80s I was only writing in microtonal systems, many of which I designed myself. I used just intonation and particular microtonal systems which often meant there would be anywhere from thirty to sixty notes per octave, which led to the fused sound of those works. I do find a certain clarity in twelve-tone equal temperament, and in some ways it almost seems sparse after ten years of microtonal work. The main reason for the return to equal temperament is that all microtonal systems, I discovered, led to a certain type of stasis. It seems that I have, at this level, reinvented the wheel, because equal temperament was designed to facilitate faster moving harmonic rhythm. My music has gradually become more concerned with harmonic rhythm, so that moving to equal temperament has been quite a natural progression. I find the return to equal temperament makes writing much easier because everything is instantly transposable and invertible. The problem with many microtonal systems is that when a harmony is inverted or transposed many notes have to be slightly adjusted. So I am able to write much faster now. One of the reasons I left twelve-tone equal temperament originally is because all of the intervals are mistuned except the octave, and you hear this particularly with the more consonant intervals. However, I am primarily writing fast music these years, so you do not really hear the mistunings, because at higher speeds the ear does not have enough time to register this aspect of equal temperament. I am slowly starting to think about how to integrate my current writing with all of the experience I gained in microtonal music. I am trying to envision a type of music that has a very fast moving harmonic rhythm, but also moves through different types of microtonal ideas, and comes back to equal temperament and keeps moving to avoid that whole static aspect of microtonal systems. You have stated a belief in the revolutionary potential of music lyinq in the transcendental aesthetic experience or moment. Can this moment live on in the listener/society and develop into something beyond itself?I believe that one of the important aspects of successful aesthetic perception is the search for the ecstatic moment: that moment of the loss of self which we also experience during extended drug usage and during sex. In these moments there is a loss of memory of who you are, what you stand for, what/where you are, etc. What is fascinating about these moments is that they allow for new ideas, visions, feelings, and thoughts to emerge. Now, the aesthetic/artistic experience is unique among these three experiences in that it is a completely safe environment, you can never physically harm yourself. I would like to think this ecstatic aesthetic experience is always goinq on in every culture. Certainly in western culture/society it has a different emphasis in different art forms, and areas of human endeavour, at different times. At present we definitely live in a film culture as people say to me they go to the film to “lose themselves.” For art music right now, most people do not search out these moments. In fact, the most common response we receive is that we tend to confuse people rather than allow for transcendental ecstatic experiences. But this is a larger social problem because the musical languages we are using are currently unrepresented in the media, which is where most people find out about works of music. Which composers are your major influences now? Composers who always inspire me, and will probably always inspire me to write, are Bach, Beethoven, Chopin, Debussy, Mahler, Stravinsky, Bartok, Ligeti, and Berio; and Lutoslawski and Xenakis to some extent. After this I have musical flings with different composers at different times that last anywhere from a few months to a few years. Right now I am very fascinated with Brahms, and with contemporary composers Magnus Lindberg, Robert Saxton, and Alfred Schnittke. How often do you visit historical structures in your music? What are the forms you create yourself? When you listen/write/perform music all of the time, inevitably you absorb without thinking the historical structures. For instance, we all speak in sentences and paragraphs, which immediately creates a structure in our verbal discourses. Obviously not all structures are equally fascinating or equally great. I think most historical musical structures operate implicitly in my music and I may not even be aware of them. I am, like most composers, more aware of structures that I think are more original, or at least those I had to spend a certain amount of time consciously thinking about. Recently, I started writing pieces not knowing ahead of time where I am going, whereas before I would compose the structure first. Currently, I consider how much new information do I keep introducing, and how much information previously in the piece will be repeated or reiterated with variations. It is that tension between old and new material, and working it out, that becomes the structural tension I am conscious of when writing. For the listeners, structure is somethinq to hang their hats on, so I am always aware of the tension between when they are beinq completely confused and when they are kept at the edge of their seats in anticipation. Explain the extensive relationships that exist in your cornpositional language between melody and harmony, and notes and timbre. Also, how do you accomplish syntax in the field of electroacoustics, where the focus traditionally has been on sound collections? Good music is always about numerous things - notes, counterpoint, melody, harmony, colour, and structure. Electroacoustic theory over the last few years has created a paradigm for discussing music in which syntax, or the language of music, is contrasted with morphology, which is the actual sound type, including anything from the sound of footsteps, to oboes, to the final textural quality of the sound. Traditional electroacoustic theorists have argued that what makes electroacoustic music special is its focus on morphology, while instrumental music is mainly concerned with syntax. I do not find this distinction new or revealing. I am convinced that good composers throughout history have always been aware of the colouristic possibilities of music making, but perhaps did not have all of the terminology for it that is currently at our disposal. I would suggest that we could select very syntactically based composers such as JS Bach and Brian Ferneyhough, and one could listen (as I often do) to these composers morphologically. That is, listen to their music in terms of changing orchestration, colours, and density. Likewise, one can listen to what is considered morphologically based music - for instance, Francis Dhomont or Edgar Varèse - in terms of note movement and organization. To place myself on this continuum: I have always been interested in a maximalist aesthetic, in creating music that somehow combines everything. In some ways I am always conscious of both syntax and morphology when composing. For me, a fundamental link between syntax and morphology is harmony. If one listens to a great piece of music in a musical way, then one listens both syntactically and morphologically as the two work together; in other words, one listens harmonically. Let me expand. The question asks about the relationship between the melody and harmony. I have always loved harmony, and often when composing I define the harmony and then create the lines for each instrument from that. You do not need a PhD in contemporary music theory to know that harmonies and chords lead to a morphological way of listening. Specifically, chords lead to fused chords, which lead to fused timbres or fused textures. By working with notes and building harmonies of thirty to fifty note chords with their horizontal/melodic implications, I am in fact defining the morphology. In short, the 400 tracks have a predefined morphological sound, which is the sound of the harmony being articulated by all the lines. Seventy to eighty percent of my 400 tracks in any given piece are traditional western orchestral instruments, the remainder being gamelan, hand percussion, drum kits, electric guitar, and voice (but we are used to choral and orchestral mixtures). So I would say that at one level, morphologically speaking, there is nothing new about my music, it is just extended orchestration. In other words, morphological transformations are a minor compositional strategy in my music. Ultimately the perceived motion is created through syntax: large scale variety, contrast, harmonic direction, different types of counterpoint, and instrumental gestures and articulations.
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L’art de la transformationby Daniel Feist in SOCAN, Paroles & Musique #2:7 (Canada), July 1, 1995 |190_01|
“… qui aurait pu croire qu’il est aussi chef de file en musique
électroacoustique?”
Le Canada est célèbre pour son hockey, ses Rocheuses et son saumon rouge, ses recherches en médecine et ses films d’animation, et même pour sa technologie de l’ère de l’espace. De quoi étre fier! Mais qui aurait pu croire qu’il est aussi chef de file en musique électroacoustique? La plupart des Canadiens, selon toute vraisemblance, ne connaissent même pas ce style de musique. Cela n’empêche pas Francis Dhomont, Robert Normandeau et Gilles Gobeil, du Québec, Barry Truax et Paul Dolden, de Vancouver, et Bruno Degazio, de Toronto, de faire partie d’un groupe grandissant de compositeurs de musique électroacoustique canadiens acclamés partout dans le monde. «Le Canada joue un rôle unique dans le domaine de l’électroacoustique, affirme le compositeur torontois Al Mattes. Il suffit de consulter la liste des lauréats des principaux prix qui sont remis tous les ans à Bourges, en France.» Cofondateur il y a deux décennies de l’avant-gardiste Music Gallery de Toronto, Mattes est actuellement président de la Communauté électroacoustique canadienne (CÉC), le seul groupe de soutien pancanadien pour les obsédés sonores. Fait révélateur, l’adhésion à la CÉC a presque doublé depuis deux ans. «Je crois qu’il serait légitime d’affirmer que la musique électroacoustique a été inventée au Canada, dit Mattes. Il existe plusieurs souches différentes, naturellement, mais l’idée du contrôle du voltage est véritablement issue de l’œuvre de Hugh Le Caine.» Le Caine (1914-1977) était une personne extraordinaire et il n’est donc guère surprenant que le prix de la composition de musique électroacoustique de la SOCAN, remis annuellement, porte son nom. En tant que directeur du Laboratoire de musique électronique du Conseil national de recherches à Ottawa au début des années 40, Le Caine était habité par la motivation de créer des instruments et des sons nouveaux. Certaines de ses plus remarquables inventions, tels la saqueboute et le générateur de structures sonores sérielles, furent des précurseurs des synthétiseurs d’aujourd’hui. On doit aussi à Le Caine d’avoir jeté les fondations des premiers studios électroacoustiques d’importance au Canada, d’abord à l’Université de Toronto et ensuite à l’Université McGill de Montréal. Les départements de musique des universités de toutes les régions du Canada constituent depuis un environnement fertile pour l’univers effervescent de l’électroacoustique. Maintenant à la retraite, des pionniers comme Istvan Anhalt (Université Queen’s) et Otto Joachim (qui a son propre studio depuis le milieu des années 50), ont été suivis par des compositeurs tels Gustav Ciamaga (Université de Toronto), alcides lanza (McGill) et Jean Piché (Université de Montréal). La CÉC compte environ 250 membres dans ses rangs, mais selon l’administrateur Ian Chuprun, «le nombre d’électroacousticiens qui ne sont pas membres est beaucoup plus élevé. La culture pop a commencé à faire davantage appel aux techniques électroacoustiques dans tous les secteurs — à la télévision, au cinéma, dans la publicité — et l’ensemble de ce domaine est du même coup devenu plus accessible.» Kevin Austin, de l’Université Concordia à Montréal, abonde dans le même sens: «Nous ne parlons pas de musique au sens traditionnel. Dans une large mesure, il s’agit d’une exploitation du son sans l’intervention directe des notions de hauteur et de rythme telles que nous les comprenons. Mais il est beaucoup plus facile d’apprécier la musique électroacoustique maintenant qu’à l’époque où elle faisait ses premiers pas, étant donné que plusieurs des sons utilisés ne sont plus perçus comme étant très inhabituels.» Très actif dans les milieux de la musique électroacoustique depuis plus de 25 ans, Austin a mis sur pied l’ensemble MetaMusic en 1972, ainsi que le Groupe électroacoustique de Concordia en 1982. Il a aussi joué un rôle déterminant dans la création de la CÉC en 1986. «Dans les années 50, la transformation d’un son pouvait prendre des semaines, déclare Austin. De nos jours, il suffit d’utiliser un générateur et de raccorder une résonance vocale à l’attaque d’une guitare, et bingo! vous venez de créer un nouveau son.» L’un des compositeurs de musique électroacoustique les plus en vue du Canada, Paul Dolden, ne partage pas cette vision des choses: «Je n’aime pas du tout le mot électroacoustique. Je préférerais dire que je suis un compositeur faisant appel à la technologie. Ce que je fais, c’est de la musique orchestrale embellie. J’aime les notes, cela est indéniable. Je suis peu intéressé aux soi-disant ‘objets sonores’ et je déteste les sons synthétisés. Mais comme je travaille sur bande et qu’aucune de mes œuvres ne peut être exécutée en direct, je suppose qu’on peut classer le tout dans la catégorie ‘musique électroacoustique’. Mais je crois sincèrement que nous n’avons pas besoin de ce terme.» Ces jours-ci, Dolden s’est enrichi de 10 000 $ en remportant l’un des deux Prix de composition musicale Jean A. Chalmers, l’autre étant allé à Jean-François Denis. Ce dernier enseigne [de 1985 à 1989] les rudiments de la musique électroacoustique à l’Université Concordia, et son prix lui a été remis afin de souligner sa contribution à titre de présentateur de concerts, d’éditeur et de fondateur d’empreintes DIGITALes, une étiquette de disques accumulant les succès. Quant à Dolden, c’est sa composition L’ivresse de la vitesse qui a retenu l’attention du jury. «Cela consiste en 400 pistes d’instruments acoustiques, explique Dolden. Vous devriez voir la partition. Elle contient des millions de notes! Ce que j’ai fait, essentiellement, c’est réduire cinq symphonies à une durée de 15 minutes. Le but visé était d’accélérer la musique au point d’en arriver à un état d’ivresse.» Le mois dernier, Dolden a présenté sa récente œuvre en première dans le cadre d’un concert de la Société de musique contemporaine du Québec (SMCQ) à Montréal. «Je l’ai appelée The Heart Tears itself Apart with the Power of its own Muscle. Resonance #3, précise-t-il. «La portion sur bande fait appel à une grande quantité d’artefacts de la culture pop. C’est du rock pour intellectuels.» À l’autre antipode de l’univers électroacoustique se trouve Barry Truax, de l’Université Simon Fraser. Compositeur et académicien influent depuis le début des années 70, il a reçu, grâce à sa pièce Riverrun, ie très convoité Prix Magisterium à Bourges, où se tient le plus prestigieux concours de musique électroacoustique au monde. «Jadis il y avait la musique sur bande, la musique électronique et la musique informatique, se souvient Truax. Il y avait des regroupements distincts qui mettaient l’accent sur les technologies. Les trois factions entretenaient peu de rapports. Mais les barrières se sont mises à tomber, notamment en raison de la différence entre l’analogique et le numérique.» Truax doit sa réputation à son travail dans le domaine de la musique assistée par ordinateur, et il fut l’un des premiers à programmer ses propres logiciels. «Cela était nécessaire dans les années 70, dit-il. De nos jours, c’est devenu un inconvénient.» Le compositeur de la côte ouest travaille actuellement à exécuter une importante commande pour le compte de la International Computer Music Conference, qui aura lieu au début de septembre. Cet événement annuel marquant s’est tenu à Copenhague l’année dernière et à Tokyo en 1993. Cette année, c’est Banff, Alberta, qui en sera l’hôte. Les expérimentations acoustiques de la compositrice vancouveroise Hildegard Westerkamp, une associée de longue date de Truax, ont toujours porté sur les sons environnementaux. «Il m’arrive souvent de concilier l’écologie et la composition sonore, explique-t-elle. J’espère donner la première d’une nouvelle pièce à l’ISEA95 Montréal (Symposium international des arts électroniques) en septembre à Montréal.» Récemment revenue d’un symposium de deux semaines sur les sons, organisé par l’Akademie der Kunste à Berlin, Westerkamp est l’éditrice du Soundscape Newsletter, l’organe officiel du World Forum for Acoustic Ecology. «Le médium électroacoustique est tellement fascinant. Je trouve dommage qu’il y ait si peu de femmes qui s’y intéressent. Je crois que la technologie représente l’obstacle majeur. Méme si cela ne décourage pas tout le monde, il y a aussi le contexte plutôt difficile lié au domaine qui peut parfois aussi rebuter certaines personnes.» Le cas de Bruno Degazio, un compositeur et concepteur de sons chevronné de Toronto, illustre bien ce point de vue: «Actuellement je travaille à l’aide d’un contrôleur d’instruments à vent WX7 et d’un VL1 de Yamaha. Le VL1 est un synthétiseur de modélisation physique qui réagit comme un instrument de musique lorsqu’on en joue. C’est la voie de l’avenir.» Cette année, Degazio est engagé à plein temps dans des projets de films IMAX. Parmi ses récentes œuvres, on retrouve d’impressionnantes trames sonores dont celles de Titanica, The Last Buffalo et The Fires of Kuwait, un documentaire mis en nomination aux Oscars. Comme cela se produit dans nombre d’autres domaines, l’électroacoustique se conçoit différemment au Québec. Beaucoup de compositeurs québécois ont été profondément influencés par l’école de la musique concrète en France, qui s’attarde surtout à étudier la manipulation électronique d’«objets sonores» plutôt que les sons crcés électroniquement. Par conséquent, leur approche créative tend à être différente. L’Association pour la création et la recherche électroacoustiques du Québec (ACREQ), mise sur pied par Yves Daoust et Marcelle Deschênes en 1978, est l’un des regroupements importants de la province. Bon nombre de compositeurs remarquables lui sont affiliés, dont Alain Thibault, Robert Normandeau et Gilles Gobeil, qui ont tous remporté plusieurs prix internationaux. Gobeil a pour sa part décroché le deuxième prix au Ars Electronica, un festival présenté en Autriche. «Le milieu est en pleine effervescence à l’heure actuelle, dit Gobeil. Plusieurs changements sont survenus et je suis particulièrement heureux de voir que nous commençons à communiquer davantage et à écouter les œuvres de nos collègues.» L’étiquette empreintes DIGITALes de Jean-François Denis permet de mesurer l’ampleur de ces déblocages. «Notre catalogue contient maintenant 24 compacts et, oui, il y a un marché pour eux! Je ne me contente pas de fabriquer ces disques. je les vends aussi!» insiste |



