The Vortex, London, November 22, 2009

Ingrid Laubrock leans forward, the tenor just about balanced on her right thumb. She shakes the horn, her fingers barely press the keys. There’s a flurry of (imagined? quasi? pseudo?) notes.

Sonic Arts Research Centre, Belfast, May 16, 2009

First time I hear Justin Yang play, I hear something similar. His approach is nothing like Laubrock’s, but, in Justin’s sound, I hear an approach that seems almost exclusively made-up of these complex of gestures.

To call them ‘extended techniques’ would be problematic; techniques extracurricular to orthodoxy might be a better description.

If I’m making Justin out to be anything like John Butcher, that would also be misleading.

The Vortex, London, November 23, 2009

Henry Grimes is not walking, he’s not playing lines, he’s not holding tones. His left hand shifts in steps, but what you hear is something else. His free fingers—‘articulate’ is so much the wrong word, ‘delineate’ ain’t much better—draw out problematic complexes—clouds of… stuff.

Stet Lab, Cork, December 7, 2009

And Marian Murray does something that’s not a million miles away from Grimes’ technique. Sliding her left hand on the fingerboard, her fingers moving ‘randomly’ (which is not quite the right word), and her bow draws out unexpected harmonics sound one register then another. She creates unpredictable, angular, jumpy phrases through deploying a, when you break it down, simple technique.

The term ‘randomly’ articulates the problematic of improvisation in our consciousness.

If I were to switch on my Composer’s Brain™ (© 1971, Pierre Boulez Inc.) for a moment, I might have heard echos of Ligeti in Grimes’ playing.

…or maybe Xenakis.

Chick Lyall once remarked that improvisers are, in a sense, lazy. He claims an inspiration in Xenakis, but responds to this inspiration with his own improvisative ‘shortcuts’ to obtain analogous results.

These terms (‘lazy,’ ‘shortcut,’ ‘random,’ etc.) articulate the problematic of improvisation in our composerly consciousness.

Another one of my teachers, Richard Barrett, also sees Xenakis as an inspiration—as model—and also problamtizes the boundary between improvisation and composition.

And how did I and Justin arrive here? Both of us with teachers from both the AACM and (so-called) New Complexity?

Department of Music, Edinburgh, date uncertain, 1996?

I remember watching Pedro Rebelo hit some clusters on the piano.

Let me rephrase that.

I remember watching Pedro Rebelo ripple some clusters on the piano. It’s almost fractal—characterized by a self-similarity—a technique for embedding detail and information at different scales.

The effect is almost an information over saturation while avoiding the homogeneity of noise.

On the guitar, I first encounter a technique for generating this kind of complexity in Fred Frith’s playing, and later, almost by accident, I’d find a technique to do that myself.

I’d later call these techniques, for lack of an, AFAIK, existing term, ‘futzing.’

Teaching this technique—‘throwing your hands around the fingerboard and hoping for the best’ or ‘sweeping though the strings and catching a surprise’—turned out, I’d later discover, to be a difficult thing to do.

How do you teach something that is so under theorized? (and how did Coltrane, Taylor, Sanders learn/develope it?) Neither ‘intentional’ (‘deliberate’ and ‘authorial’) nor ‘noise’ (e.g. the Cagian denial of agency). These things—‘noise’/‘intention’—exist on a line, and it isn’t so much about riding the border between them, but steeping off that line. We want to enter a space that is not about control, nor the lack of it, but about surprises, densities and irregularities; about relationships—differences and negotiations… maybe cyborgs.

As someone said elsewhere:

Let me put my cards on the table at this point and say, that for me, virtuosity is a significant element in how I relate to the instrument, how I relate to performance, and how I approach improvisation. Leave aside that vision of a raw, competitive, athletics concept, and I might argue for virtuosity as an interface between the instrument and the instrumentalist. If performance in general, and improvisation in particular, is the (re)enactment and (re)negotiation of identities, boundaries and relationships, then the space between actors (human and non-human) must be a site of (re)construction and (trans)formation.

I suppose what I might be arguing for is, taking my hat off to Donna Haraway, a cyborg improviser—the (un)natural, contradictory, partial identity that is techno-organism (Haraway, 1991). Should I insist on the stable category of human (me), or the stable category of the artifact (guitar), or the hard-edged boundary that separates us, no music can be made. It is in the re-negotiations, and the fluid motions, of the boundaries, the (temporary) creation of hybrids and networks that music (as side-effect) can be improvised.

Virtuosity, to me, means the confusion and connectedness of the (blurry) categories of the musical, the social, the cultural and the technological. On a good day I’m not sure where the cultural ends and the technological starts. Sometimes I wonder if my body stops at my fingertips, or whether it continues through to the fingerboard….

references

Haraway, Donna J. (1991), ‘A Cyborg Manifesto: Science, Technology, and Socialist-Feminism in the Late Twentieth Century’ in Simians, Cyborgs, and Women: The Reinvention of Nature (New York: Routledge), pp. 149-181.

I don’t subscribe to a silly ideology of some impossibly impartial, neutral, transcendental performance, free of tradition, history, identity. I’m not necessarily saying any one performance is going to be better than another (although I won’t strongly dispute such a claim), but some are, for me, more (for lack of better word) worthwhile than others; they were worth doing, and worth participating in, for reasons of demonstrating promising avenues of future research, or for putting into motion the results of such research. And I hope that the worthwhile performances / tactics / relationships / modes-of-interaction outweigh the others, or that the others lead, eventually, to worthwhile performances / tactics / relationships / modes-of-interaction.

I don’t want to confuse this sense of lack-of-‘worth’ with misfires that nonetheless do point to avenues of future research. Sometimes the less than satisfactory improvisations bring into relief approaches or contexts that you are not able (yet) to deal with (e.g. my playing with Franziska Schroeder at November ’08 Lab [read my report…]), or a performer highlights your relative lack of inventiveness or skill (e.g. Paul Dunmall blowing just about all of us off stage in February [read my report…]). Even if these are musically less than successful (whatever that means), all these are valuable and are worth participating in as a performer and as a listener. (An example of a performance that I wouldn’t have been entirely happy with as a listener would perhaps be the the duet with Bruce Coates in November ’07.)

Does that make any sense?

Okay, what does this have to do with the June Lab? As much as audience feedback was to the contrary, from my POV at least, my playing at that Lab felt like a retread. As much as the Stet Lab audience, prior to June, may not have heard Han-earl Park, the modal player, Han-earl Park, the practitioner of prepared guitar, or Han-earl Park, the deployer of imitative tactics, these all had a sense of, for me, been-there-done-that.

Also it didn’t offer (again, for me) enough in terms of complex relationships. As I wrote in regards to the previous month’s Lab:

I want the listening experience to be rich and interesting. If you’re sharp, you’d have caught it, made connections, and patted yourself on the back for being a clever listener; if not, well, no biggie, hopefully there’s enough complexity to provide ear-candy and (unintended) connections.

verbatim imitation

One thing I did during the June Lab that I haven’t been doing in a long time was (more or less) verbatim imitation.

I did have fun, but I think I also realized (remembered?) why I’d been avoiding this particular mode of interaction. It’s too easy; the choices are the most obvious. It’s like movies that, uncertain of the intelligence of their audience, get loaded with too much exposition. Hey, didn’tcha catch that? No problem, pal, I’ll tell ya again….

And again, as much as the post-performance feedback was positive, I would have liked the performance (the world onstage) to ask more of the audience. I would prefer to have the audience work to make connections and construct, I don’t care what you call it, ‘significance’ / ‘meaning’ / (projected) ‘intent.’ If I were a member of the audience, I’d want the connections to be more… oblique.

the prepared guitar

Yeah, yeah, yeah, the guitarist / banjo player sticks a couple of chop-sticks into the strings, woo-hoo. Yeah? boring. What’s the point?

I’m not dissing Frith or Rowe, but, seriously, who do I think I am. Am I able to get anything interesting out of this (beyond simple-minded novelty)? Who am I kidding?

And isn’t appealing to “simple-minded novelty” again like that movie that pitches at a less-than-intelligent audience?

audience participation

This was something that I’d wanted to see more of. I’d attempted to stage audience participation at the Lab with mixed results in the past, but it was great to have Juniper Hill’s more direct approach.

…but perhaps the chamber music vibe of the evening (established by Piaras Hoban, Veronica Tadman, et al.) conspired against a riotous on/off-stage engagement from really taking off.

…and I can’t play the banjo

Now that may have been the single most striking impulse to deploying a single tactic. Not having much of a repertoire on the banjo meant that, well, I had a pretty narrow line to walk. Do this, then that, uh, what do I have left, okay, that, that, and, finally, this. Not sure there’s much milage available for Han-earl Park, the banjo player, and necessity ain’t always the mother of invention, but that was, in terms of my playing, the most interesting tactic for the evening.

Here’s a little back-story: in my first semi-public attempts as an improvising guitarist, I had my guitar, amp and volume pedal… plus a compressor, a distortion box, a delay pedal and a chorus unit. Eventually, this chain would be joined by a wah. (I did, incidentally, my first recordings (a piece by Pedro Rebelo) with more or less this complex of equipment.)

Why am I going through this guitar-geek fetish confession? I started as an improvising guitarist of the ‘if-only-I-had-a-gizmo-I-would-rock’ school of wishful, self-delusion. Somewhere in my head, I had this naive idea that what separated me from the Frisells and Friths of the world was the hardware. (Oh, I almost got myself, don’t laugh, an SG thinking that this would get me closer to Frisell and Zappa.)

Yet Bailey never got better than with a guitar, terrible sounding fuzz box, a volume pedal and amp. Heck, Braxton, age 24, got two LPs from a single alto.

Who was I kidding here?

I only got through my personal-political-musical-technical hiccups and hang-ups by jettisoning, first the wah, then the compressor and delay, and eventually the distortion and the chorus boxes.

Fast-forward to the present…

I feel I’ve melowed from my fundamentalist, luddite stance from years ago, but, as I sat watching Katie O’Looney setup her behemoth kit, as I helped her carry her atomized percussion setup out of her van, up the stairs, into the performance space, I couln’t quite figure out what I was feeling.

My mentors include those who enroll gargantuan complex of musical resources and those who do not. How do I figure in this equation? There are, of course, pragmatic dimensions to this (I travel from one gig to another, by and large, via public transport), but nonetheless what are the political/ideological implications of subscribing to one position?

Part choice, perhaps: I did, for example, suggest to Owen Sutton that he might want to “decide whether you’re an everything-but-the-kitchen-sink drummer (a la Tony Oxley), or happier with a more spartan approach (like Joey Baron). Neither [is] the wrong choice, of course….” Sure, neither’s wrong, but neither are they neutral; they have very different implications and possibilities.

Stet Lab featuring Katie O’Looney plus OPKA

Tuesday, April 14th 2009

9:00 pm (doors: 8:45 pm)

Upstairs @ The Roundy [map…]
Castle Street
Cork, Ireland

€10 (€5)

Stet Lab returns this April at its regular venue The Roundy, Castle Street, and features a compelling improviser (with a taste for the dramatic) who emerged from the downtown New York scene: percussionist Katie O’Looney.

A self-described “one woman multi-instrumentalist searching the inner avenues and remote natural boundaries of exploration with a sense of enjoyment,” Katie O’Looney is set to keep the audience engaged and awestruck. Her playing originates from a hard-rock, psychedelic background which was then the launch pad for her venture into an ever explorative improvisation scene. Her numerous collaborators include many of the best known names in latter-day improvised music—Zeena Parkins, Elliott Sharp and Fred Frith. She has performed and toured extensively as part of ensembles such as Steppin’ Razor, Carbon, Details At Eleven, Bite Like A Kitty, Better than Death, Raeo and Zar. In addition to her career as a drummer, she is also a visual artist, and has provided music for Rose Lowder’s experimental films.

Warming up April’s activities, Stet Lab welcomes back the the performers who introduced themselves as John, Paul, George and Ringo of Cork improvisation: OPKA. Their public debut in January was a triumph of dynamic real-time music, and Stet Lab is excited to be showcasing them again. The band—Owen Sutton (drums), Paul Dowling (bass), Kevin Terry and Andrea Bonino (guitars)—hail from vastly differing backgrounds and traditions, and have recently been expanding on open form improvisation with on-the-fly, top-down methods of (re)organization.

The event will begin at 9:00 pm (doors open at 8:45 pm) and entry is €10 (€5).

Stet Lab will be back on Monday, May 11th with Birmingham-based saxophonist Bruce Coates.