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.

Han-earl Park: Hello.

Eliza: How do you do. Please state your problem.

Not exactly a problem, but a kind of…. I’m wondering about what happens when old… when there’s a meeting of improvisers.

Is it because you are wondering about what happens what old that you came to me?

Sorry? No, what I mean is what happens when there’s an on stage reunion I suppose.

Please don’t apologise.

Okay. Take the performance by Marian [Murray], Tony [O’Connor] and myself. How does that compare with the work we’ve done in the past?

Why do you ask?

Well, Marian’s been out of the Lab equation since July ’08, and Tony, spare the cameo appearance in January [2009], the same.

In what way?

In what way? I haven’t really been performing with them, and they, with each other, for a while. The last Lab was, in that sense, a kind of reunion.

Does that question interest you?

Well, that is the question.

I’m not sure I understand you fully.

Does the most recent musical meeting accentuate past patterns, or do you bring new stuff to the table?

We were discussing you—not me.

Okay, do we bring new stuff to the table?

Please go on.

If the purpose of the Lab was to bring improvisers (their practices and approaches) from far afield, how does this reunion play into that?

Do you think its likely that the purpose of the Lab was to bring improvisers (their practices and approaches) from far afield?

Well, I did write the mission statement!

You say you did write the mission statement?

Well, I did.

Can you elaborate on that?

I’ve already done that elsewhere so no, not really.

Are you saying no just to be negative?

I feel I’m getting off topic.

How long have you been getting off topic?

Probably from the start.

What does that suggest to you?

That I’ve not got a clear picture of the situation.

Do you feel strongly about discussing such things?

Yes.

You seem to be quite positive.

Thanks.

I’m not sure I understand you fully.

Take the meeting with Thomas Buckner earlier this month. There’s a dynamic, between Jesse [Ronneau] and myself, and the negotiation between us and Thomas.

Please go on.

The first-time, real-time, on-stage meeting with, in this case, Thomas creates interesting tactical problems for the improvisers. And I get to interact with Jesse in a totally new environment—context.

Do you say and you get to interact with Jesse in a totally new environment / context for some special reason?

Well, and I don’t mean this in a bad way, but it’s no particular secret that Jesse and I don’t always see eye-to-eye on things improvisative.

Don’t you really mean this in a bad way?

Not at all. That difference is surely what fires the engines of improvisation.

What is it you really wanted to know?

I suppose what I want to know is whether that Murray-O’Connor-Park trio was familiar or unfamiliar.

What would it mean to you if you got to know is whether that Murray-O’Connor-Park trio was familiar or unfamiliar?

Okay, how about this: to what extent, and in what way, was that trio a familiar retread, and to what extent was it something outside the comfort zone?

Are such questions much on your mind?

Given some comments by Paul [Hegarty], Mel [Melanie L. Marshall] and the recent encounter with Thomas, yes.

You are sure.

Yes.

I see.

But perhaps I am simply fetishizing the novel and new.

You don’t seem quite certain.

Most of my work in the last few years has been in the jam session mold. People fly in, or I fly out, and there’s an ad-hoc meeting. What I miss is the band.

Your work in the last few years has been in the jam session mold?

Yup. Even the concerts.

Does that have anything to do with the fact that your work in the last few years has been in the jam session mold?

Well, I suppose one leads to another.

That’s quite interesting.

But I miss the bands. The time to work on specific tactics and approaches.

You say but you miss the bands?

The Church of Sonology, say, or even the ensembles that exist for a few days or weeks. That gives the performers enough time to develop stuff that doesn’t happen in one-off meetings.

What does that suggest to you?

I’m neglecting stuff?

Do you believe it is normal to be neglecting stuff?

Well, it’s good to abandon stuff, not get too attached to it.

Do you feel strongly about discussing such things?

Well, [Evan] Parker admired [John] Coltrane for his ability to abandon. [1]

I’m not sure I understand you fully.

Again, I’m not sure about the fetishizing of the new.

Do you enjoy being not sure about the fetishizing of the new?

Not that—I wonder about the politics of it.

Can you elaborate on that?

Oh, I don’t know. Is it a form of middle-class, upward mobility—transcendence?

Why don’t you know?

Because it [the new] can also be about revolution.

Is that the real reason?

Hard to say. How can I perform one political maneuver while avoiding the other?

What answer would please you most?

That it is about change, but not…. Not sure. That I’ll need think about that.

notes:

1. Graham Lock (1991), ‘speaking of the essence’, Wire (issue 85, March), pp. 30–32.