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Experimental Music Author(s): Roger Smalley Source: The Musical Times, Vol. 116, No. 1583 (Jan., 1975), pp. 23-26Published by: Musical Times Publications Ltd.Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/958862Accessed: 20-10-2015 00:56 UTC

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Experimental Music Roger Smalley

Michael Nyman's lucid, stimulating and well- written account of the relatively brief history of Experimental Music1 is a book which raises many more issues than its author cares to confront. The term Experimental Music (EM) has surfaced-I don't know quite how or when-to describe that area of contemporary music which has rejected the European post-Renaissance tradition. No surprise, therefore, that EM first became a definable force in the 1950s, in a country which had been only briefly and peripherally a party to the European mainstream of art music: the USA. During the 1960s the initial impulse of the American school appeared gradually to exhaust itself, and the movement's centre of gravity shifted towards England.

In each country the movement was catalysed by a single figure of outstanding importance, John Cage in America and Cornelius Cardew in England. (I hesitate to use the more obviously apposite word 'leader' since Experimental musicians as a whole are determinedly opposed to the kind of personal influence wielded by the writing and teaching of such 'establishment' composers as Schoenberg, Messiaen or Stockhausen.) Both Cage and Cardew were acquainted at first hand with the mainstream of European musical thought-Cage studied with Schoenberg in the mid-1930s and Cardew spent two years (around 1960) as Stockhausen's assistant- and their subsequent rejection of this mainstream was thus the result of a conscious intellectual decision. One cannot overestimate the courage of those decisions, taken alone in the face of what the weight of musical history seemed to suggest was overwhelming evidence to the contrary.

There were few precedents; those that did exist are examined by Nyman in his second chapter, 'Backgrounds'. The key figure is Erik Satie, with his use of extended repetition (the first performance of Vexations-52 slow crotchets-worth of music repeated 840 times-was organized by Cage), his concept of a music which did not demand and focus attention but would take its place modestly along- side the other sounds and activities of everyday life (musique d'ameublement), and his musical structures founded principally on the permutation of fixed time lengths. Varese and Russolo were also signifi- cant, the first because of his pioneering use of percussion (Ionisation was composed in 1936) and his congealing of normal instrumental timbres into 'sound-blocks', the second for actually having invented and built an orchestra of 'noise-instru- ments'. Finally, 'naive' composers such as Charles Ives, Henry Cowell and Harry Partch were in- fluential because of their empirical attitude to the materials of music and because aesthetically they valued inclusion and acceptance above exclusion and rejection.

The consequent emphasis on idea rather than

1Experimental Music: Cage and beyond (Studio Vista, £3.75)

style is perhaps the crucial distinction between EM and avant-garde music. (I use the words 'style' and 'idea' in a very general sense; 'style' refers not to one specific style but to the non-verbal level of musical communication, in fact everything which resides in the composer's use of musical language and struc- ture; 'idea' stands for all those ideas about, behind and emanating from music which can be unambig- uously expressed only in words.) At the time when Cage was filling in the imperfections in his manu- script paper and Feldman was tentatively feeling his way from chord to chord, the European avant garde was almost exclusively preoccupied with the attemp- ted creation of a musical language which would extend the rigour, consistency, integrity and stylistic purity they had discovered in the later works of Webern (remember how unacceptable the 'formal neo-classicism' of Schoenberg and the stylistic 'aberrations' of Berg were to the Boulez of the 1950s). But how could the composer of 4'33" (Nyman singles out this work as a paradigm of EM in his opening chapter, which attempts a definition of the genre) be concerned with style, when none of the sounds (putatively) heard in a performance have been determined by the composer? Here style is nothing; the idea is everything.

The work of Cage and the Fluxus group (early La Monte Young, George Brecht etc, to whom Nyman devotes his fourth chapter) is concerned primarily with the ideas which lie behind sounds and actions, and only incidentally with style (musical structure). Any sounds which might be heard during a performance of 4'33" are of no con- sequence in themselves; the real interest of the piece is in the concepts which underlie it (that 'silence' does not really exist, reversal of the roles of per- former and listener etc). I cannot therefore agree with Cage's distinction between 'old' and new music: ' "old" music . . . has to do with conceptions and their communication . . . new music . . . has to do with perception and the arousing of it in us' (quoted by Nyman, p.20). For what is there to be perceived in 4'33" except a conception, and what use is this conception if it is not communicated ?

However, it should scarcely be necessary for me to stress that music is not the ideal medium for the communication of ideas, which do not so much go into pieces of music via the composer as come out of them via each individual listener. Without the assistance of words (texts, programme notes etc), a composer can guarantee to communicate only the fact of his intense concentration on the musical substance. Although every listener will have his own individual experience of what Beethoven's Fifth Symphony is 'about', all can at least agree that this personal 'meaning' is the product of the same specific and unchanging musical structure. In music-such as 4'33"-which is insubstantial and therefore has no structure, all that remains is an idea.

It does seem possible, however, that style (as I 23

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have defined it) is actually the single most important attribute of music, first because it is the only aspect of the music which the composer can be reasonably certain of communicating, second because the intensity of the musical structure provides a focus which concentrates the listener's attention, awakens and sharpens his powers of perception. The com- poser creates a network of relationships from which the listener is free to draw his own conclusions. Cage's conception of the performance and audition of non-EM as something not far removed from an act of coercion-a composer is 'simply someone who tells other people what to do' (A Year from Monday, p.ix), listeners think that 'they're not doing anything but that something is being done to them' (quoted by Nyman, p.21)-is thus based on a fundamental misunderstanding of the nature of the music itself.

Words which we could use in describing such music might be 'integrate', 'harmony', and 'balance' -all words which Nyman singles out with particular disdain from a quotation of Stockhausen. Cage, he goes on, 'is far more willing to allow relationships to develop naturally' (p.25, my italics). If this is true, and there is no evidence that it is not, it strikes me as a disturbingly indifferent attitude on the part of a composer who has recently expressed concerns and hopes for the future economic, political and ecological evolution of the world. For isn't the present state of the world due precisely to allowing things to 'develop naturally'? And shouldn't our aim be to 'integrate' man and nature, to 'har- monize' people with their work, and to 'balance' out wealth and poverty? A characteristic of Cage's later music, and of a great deal of EM in general, is that the performers have no control over the sounds they produce (Cage's Variations VI), no possibility of relating to the other performers (a typical Scratch Orchestra concert), and that the listeners are bombarded with a mass of uncoordinated infor- mation (Cage's HPSCHD). Exactly which aspects of our society this music is reflecting is soon revealed if we translate its attributes into socio-political terms. For example: production-line workers have no control over the means of production, two of the major problems of urban living are isolation and loneliness, the mass of the population is system- atically befuddled by the output of the news and advertising media. The result of this all-too- depressingly-accurate mirroring of life by art is that it creates a situation of maximum confusion and lack of concentration: 'For all things are now equal and no one thing is given any priority over any other thing' (Nyman, p.25). The music is not 'an attempt to bring order out of chaos nor to suggest improvements in creation, but simply a way of waking up to the very life we're living, which is so excellent once one gets one's mind and one's desires out of the way and lets it act of its own accord' (Cage; quoted by Nyman, pp.22-3). Really? Try telling that to the starving millions; once they have got rid of their niggling desire for a little food I am sure they will be only too ready to agree with you.

In much EM, style, in my sense of a coherent musical language and discourse, has been pains- 24

takingly destroyed. All that remains are ideas and concepts, which on closer examination begin to appear positively reactionary in their implications. Unfortunately Nyman does not seem to recognize the musical and political consequences of this stance; although, to be fair, even he raises an eye- brow at that last quotation from Cage.

The lorry passing the end of the road is not as musically significant as the Beethoven quartet I am listening to on the radio. Since there would appear to be little possibility of raising the sound of the lorry to the same level of complexity as the Bee- thoven quartet it is only by reducing the Beethoven to the same degree of insignificance as the lorry that the two can be made to interact meaningfully. Significantly enough, much EM is concerned with this process of reducing music to its lowest common denominator ('a sound') by depriving it of its power and individuality. Consider, for example, Hugh Shrapnel's Accompaniment (Verbal Anthology,2 p.56): 'Recordings (any number) of classical (or romantic) string quartets widely separated (to accompany each other) and played at low volume (to accompany something else)'. The Scratch Orchestra's interpretation of 'Popular Classics' falls into the same category, as do the activities of the Portsmouth Sinfonia. From some points of view the notion of a group of amateur instrumentalists getting together to muddle through the William Tell overture is an admirable one. It begins to seem less admirable once one realizes that if the players practised their instruments and parts sufficiently to give a good performance their raison d'etre would have vanished-since they exist only in order to play music badly. Again the lowest common denominator syndrome is at work; within the Sinfonia the stimulus is to keep things as bad as they are rather than to aim for the higher values of instrumental mastery and musical fidelity.

Up to now I have concentrated mainly on the work of Cage, not only because he is the most influential single figure in the entire movement (and is treated as such in the book) but also because Nyman uses the music and writings of Cage as a basis for defining the nature of EM. It becomes clear during the course of the book, however, that his opening chapter- 'Towards a [definition of] EM'-does not adequately account for the reality of the present situation, which is far too complex and diverse to be subsumed under a Cagean mushroom-cloud. What, for instance, is the relationship between the work of Cage and the highly disciplined music of Steve Reich and Phil Glass? Apart from their common rejection of the European post-Webern tradition it is difficult to detect any meaningful connection. In contrast to Cage the music of Reich and Glass is precisely notated, demands a high level of expertise, control and coordination on the part of the per- formers and provides the listener with a distinctive, precise and subtle aural image.

But the ultimate distinction lies deeper than this. The concerns of Reich, Glass, La Monte Young, Terry Riley (and of the earlier generation of American composers I would add Feldman) are 2Experimental Music Catalogue (208 Ladbroke Grove, London W10), £2

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quintessentially musical, in that they deal with the actual process of hearing. The researches of Cage and the Fluxus group, on the other hand, are only tangentially related to music as a living and evolving body of sound; it is not by chance that Cage's writings offer a more coherent exposition of his ideas than does his music. I do not think that Nyman has sufficiently thought through the impli- cations of his initial definition. By opposing Cage, Wolff and Feldman to Stockhausen (as he does throughout the first chapter) he fails to prove his point, because the great divide is not between the post-serialists and Experimental Musicians but between those who think in music and those who think about music. With Nyman, I hold no brief for those who believe that the only 'correct' or 'valid' way forward is by developing and extending the 12-note system; my ears tell me that Reich is a more sheerly musical composer than Babbitt. Being an excellent theoretician is not necessarily synonymous with being a good composer. Babbitt and Cage are perhaps closer than either might like to think. They are united in their ability to speculate interestingly about the nature of music and in their inability to invent compelling aural images which will give substance to these speculations (I except Cage's pre-indeterminate music). But the ultimate reality of music lies in its sound, and Nyman unfortunately tends to base his argument on what composers have written about their music rather on the substance of the music itself. The pitfalls of this approach have already been touched upon in the discussion of Cage. The liberal and humanitarian image projected by Cage's writings are at odds with the essentially negative and reactionary nature of his music. On the other hand Stockhausen's writings might often appear egocentric and didactic, and yet his actual music embodies a model of precisely the kind of structure of human relationships which Cage is urging on us in his books. Feldman provides us with another interesting case. His writings show that he admires and reveres Cage and has a well-developed antipathy towards Stockhausen. But what of the music? It is (in general) precisely notated, it in- habits an individual and compelling sound-world and it plays on the listener's expectations (sudden loud chords in a predominantly quiet context, unpre- dictable numbers of repetitions and changes of register etc). If we pay too much attention to what Feldman has said (as I suspect Nyman does) we shall make the mistake of linking him with Cage; if we draw our conclusions from the music itself we shall see that he has far more in common with Stockhausen.

In the last two chapters of his book Nyman examines (among other things) the recent upsurge of EM in England. At this point we can stop writing words about words about music and turn to a dis- cussion of the music itself, since I have before me more than a hundred examples of British EM in the form of five anthologies published by the Experi- mental Music Catalogue.3 The EMC is significant not only for the scores it produces but also because of its underlying aesthetic and organization-it is a publishing venture run by composers for composers. 3see note 2; also Keyboard Anthology, £6; Rhythmic Anthology, £1; String Anthology, £1.25; Vocal Anthology, £1

Formed in 1969, it is currently run by a three-man editorial board consisting of Michael Nyman, Christopher Hobbs and Gavin Bryars, whose function is:

to formulate policy, print the pieces, organize the catalogue of pieces, obtain pieces from com- posers, run the day to day business of the EMC etc. We wrote to all the composers asking them what pieces they wished to include in the catalogue . . . On the basis of these replies we organized a series of anthologies of related pieces as well as pieces by individual composers as a means of distributing the work more effectively . . . The editors meet frequently to discuss new works that have been submitted and to prepare work for printing ... The composers accept the concept of renewable publication and will receive a share of whatever proceeds their works bring in.4

The aims of the EMC are wholly admirable (and I should add that the anthologies are well and legibly produced), but my enthusiasm for the music itself must, regrettably, be tempered by some fairly severe reservations.

Although a large number of composers are rep- resented it is not, I think, unrealistic to infer a certain common philosophy behind their efforts. The pieces are generally simple in material and structure, and the majority are written out either in normal staff notation or as verbal instructions. The scores do not occupy much space, but their performance fre- quently takes a great deal of time: Terry Jennings's (one of a few American composers represented in the anthologies) Piece for Strings (one side) lasts 21'45", Hugh Shrapnel's Cantation II (seven sides) a modest four hours. Most of the notated pieces are strongly, even aggressively, tonal, either borrow- ing 'ready-made' material (as in Christopher Hobbs's Czerny's 100 Royal Bouquet Valses and Michael Chant's dispirited two lines for two pianos Of Over Fond) or making do with original inspiration. The verbal scores are even more basic and could often, probably advantageously, be performed by non- musicians. In Nyman's book most of this music falls under the heading of his final chapter: 'Mini- mal music, determinacy and the new tonality'.

The impression is of a group of composers thoroughly disenchanted with recent developments in music, especially its often inaudible structural complexity and extreme difficulty of performance. They are seeking a music which will be clear in structure (often based on simple mathematical models), limited (often unitary) in material, and easy to play. Worthy, if hardly new, intentions: the preceding description would fit many a Bach prelude. Unfortunately most of the EMC composers have made a fatal mistake in analysing this undeniably important problem-a flaw which lies in their assumption that simplicity can be achieved merely by leaving things out, rather than by the more positive virtues of refinement, crystallization and concentration. Their response to the music of this century (with a few notable exceptions to which I shall return) is thus not to approach it head on with the clear-sightedness of a new vision, but quietly to forget about it. 4from an article by Gavin Bryars in no.7 of the excellent new contemporary music magazine Contact (17 Turners Croft, Heslington, York YO1 5EL)

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The resulting impression of inconsequential triviality is both surprising and depressing, coming as it does from a group of composers who appear, on the surface at least, to be strongly, even ideologic- ally, motivated. I cannot imagine what we, as listeners, might gain from hearing the 11 minimal events of Terry Jennings's Piece for Strings (21'45"), from following the interminable progress of Bryn Harris's Mass Medium, listening to rising scales by Hugh Shrapnel for four hours (Tidal Wave) or to the ten minutes of a repeated F in Edward Fulton's Piano Piece. In this latter case even the composer evidently doesn't find it absolutely necessary ('N.B.: if you don't feel up to 10 minutes of one note, omit this section'). My scepticism does not spring from any a priori prejudice against such musical ideas; it is just that I believe these to be exceedingly limited ones, viable perhaps for a couple of pieces by the composer who first thought of them. The trouble is that all too few of them are making their first appearance in these EMC anthologies.

This brings me to the most distressing feature of the entire collection-the fact that, despite the superficial impression of iconoclasm, of rejection of both the lessons of the past and the demands of the present, the majority of the musical ideas have been unthinkingly lifted from the works of a few com- posers, most of whom have already demonstrated within their own outputs the inherent limitations of their ideas (I could, but won't, supply a detailed list

of comparisons and influences; it is sufficient to say that the composers whose names most often come to mind are Feldman, Reich, Riley, Young and Cardew). That these limitations are inherent and not simply the result of a paucity of imagination or ability on the part of the composers concerned is proved only too clearly by these anthologies, in which no-one succeeds in making a significant extension of his chosen model. In fact everyone fares considerably worse. The essence of the models lies in their simplicity; when imitating something simple the almost invariable tendency has been to make the copy just a little more elaborate and involved. It therefore neither retains the simplicity of the original nor has it developed far enough away from its source to take on an independent life of its own.

Among the musical influences, that of Cornelius Cardew occupies a special position. His currently departed spirit hovers over the entire venture because so many of these composers had their most formative musical experiences as members of the Scratch Orchestra. The evidence here confirms my suspicions that the Scratch Orchestra became a body more interested in ideology than in sounds and talked so much in social and organizational general- ities that it tended to forget about musical specifics. The world of music will never be synonymous with the real world, but accepting the realities of composition today would, for most of these com- posers, be a major step in a more positive direction.

G. B. Sammartini and the Symphony Bathia Churgin

The bicentenary of the Milanese composer Giovanni Battista Sammartini brings to our attention one of the foremost composers of the 18th century and a key figure in the development of the Classical style. Highly prized during his life, Sammartini's music was forgotten soon after he died. Until the period of World War I, Sammartini's name was cited in music history books mainly as the probable teacher of Gluck. Though some reference was made to his importance as one of the first Classical symphonists, the Sammartini revival began only with the re- search of Georges de Saint-Foix, Gaetano Cesari and Fausto Torrefranca, published in 1913-17, and continued by Saint-Foix and Robert Sond- heimer in the 1920s and 1930s. Interest in Sammar- tini's music was revived in the 1950s. The American conductor Newell Jenkins has performed, recorded and edited many Sammartini works;1 new light has been shed on Sammartini's life by the discoveries of Guglielmo Barblan and Claudio Sartori; and there has been intensive research in the location of MS sources, study of handwriting and watermarks, 1Among Jenkins's recordings of Sammartini's music are 13 symphonies (Nonesuch, Dover, Angelicum and Haydn Society).

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and analysis of the music itself by Jenkins, Jan LaRue and the present writer. A complete critical edition of the symphonies is now under way (vol. i was published in 1969), and a thematic catalogue of Sammartini's orchestral and vocal works by Jen- kins and the present writer will be published in spring 1975 (J-c numbers refer to this catalogue).2 This increased activity reflects Sammartini's great importance in the history of Classical music as well as his high artistic achievement.

Sammartini was probably born in Milan in 1700 or the first two weeks of 1701, and he died there on 15 January 1775. We know little about his life and nothing about his personality; only one letter (to Padre Martini) and one portrait have survived. His father, Alessio, was an oboist of French origin; his elder brother, Giuseppe (d1750), with whom he has often been confused, was a fine composer of concertos and sonatas, primarily in the late Baroque style, who lived in London from about 1727 and gained fame there as 'the greatest [oboist] the world had ever known' (Hawkins). 2The complete edition and thematic catalogue are being published by the Harvard University Press.

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