Clever Children: the Sons and Daughters of Experimental Music?

Home , Acid Tracks, Chicago house, Derrick May (musician), DJ Spooky, Eight Lines, Howie B

Clever Children: The Sons and Daughters of Experimental Music

Author Carter, David

Published 2009

Thesis Type Thesis (PhD Doctorate)

School Queensland Conservatorium

DOI https://doi.org/10.25904/1912/1356

Downloaded from http://hdl.handle.net/10072/367632

Griffith Research Online https://research-repository.griffith.edu.au

Clever Children: The Sons and Daughters of Experimental Music?

David Carter

B.Music / Music Technology (Honours, First Class)

Queensland Conservatorium Griffith University

A dissertation submitted in fulfilment of the requirements for the award of the degree Doctor of Philosophy

19 June 2008

Keywords

Contemporary Music; Dance Music; Disco; DJ; DJ Spooky; Dub; Eight Lines; Electronica; Electronic Music; Errata Erratum; Experimental Music; Hip Hop; House; IDM; Influence; Techno; John Cage; Minimalism; Music History; Musicology; Rave; Reich Remixed; Scanner; Surface Noise.

Abstract

In the late 1990s critics, journalists and music scholars began referring to a loosely associated group of artists within Electronica who, it was claimed, represented a new breed of experimentalism predicated on the work of composers such as John Cage, Karlheinz Stockhausen and Steve Reich. Though anecdotal evidence exists, such claims by, or about, these ‘Clever Children’ have not been adequately substantiated and are indicative of a loss of history in relation to electronic music forms (referred to hereafter as Electronica) in popular culture. With the emergence of the Clever Children there is a pressing need to redress this loss of history through academic scholarship that seeks to document and critically reflect on the rhizomatic developments of Electronica and its place within the history of twentieth century music.

Clever Children: The Sons and Daughters of Experimental Music explores the relationship between the experimental music tradition and these Clever Children through the application of a mixed method Collective Case Study examining the work of Howard Bernstein (Howie B), Robin Rimbaud (Scanner) and Paul Miller (DJ Spooky). This research utilises an analytical framework comprising interview, document review and musical analysis to explore the artist and work under discussion in order to identify areas of congruence, confluence and difference with key musical and conceptual traits derived from an historical survey of the experimental music tradition and Electronica.

The key historical developments of the experimental music tradition and Electronica outlined in this research, though necessarily selective, provide an overview and context of the broad trends and concerns that have emerged in both traditions. This research identifies significant areas of confluence between the two and this suggests that some form of influence may have taken place. When examined in more detail however, this is revealed to be the result of parallel but distinct developments owing more to external factors than any direct or indirect influence. This is borne out to varying degrees within the Collective Case Study.

Case Study One examines the remix of Steve Reich’s Eight Lines by Howie B as one example of the congruence, confluence and lines of influence that have been drawn between minimalism and Electronica. This Case Study concludes that,

while Bernstein’s work demonstrates strong similarities with the experimental music tradition, Bernstein has not engaged with Reich’s material in a manner that is outside the scope of his usual practice. Furthermore this Case Study suggests that key similarities between Bernstein’s remix and Reich’s original conform to the overlap between Electronica and the experimental music tradition. Subsequently, this Case Study does not support assertions of direct influence by the experimental music tradition on Bernstein’s artistic practice.

The second Case Study examines Robin Rimbaud’s claims that he has been influenced by the work of John Cage. Rimbaud’s 1998 sound-art piece Surface Noise serves as a basis for examining the relationship between Rimbaud and Cage. The Case Study suggests that Rimbaud has been demonstrably influenced by the experimental music but that this influence has been subject to significant reinterpretation or extrapolation. This Case Study supports Rimbaud’s claims while pointing out key differences between the ways these influences have been applied and how such ideas were understood in their original context.

The final Case Study discusses Paul Miller’s Errata Erratum (2002) with reference to statements by the artist linking his work, and Hip Hop more generally, with the experimental music tradition. Though Miller’s work displays congruencies with the experimental music tradition, his diverse and overlapping influences and pastiche-like approach to his music make it difficult to synthesize the genesis of his ideas. This Case Study argues that Miller has drawn, often indiscriminately and with significant creativity, from a complex web of influences that includes the experimental music tradition.

Instead of representing a clear succession to the experimental music tradition, the Clever Children discussed in this research delineate a new field of music that can be best described as appropriating elements of experimental music and applying these to new contexts. In such contexts experimentalism mingles with a multiplicity of congruent and contrary musical and aesthetic ideals producing new and exciting musical forms. By examining the relationship of the Clever Children to the experimental music tradition and placing them within an historical context, this research promotes an awareness and discussion of the alternate and divergent musical practices that inform the music of our own time and may influence the music of our future.

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Table of Contents

Keywords ...... i Abstract ...... ii Table of Contents ...... iv List of Figures ...... vii List of Tables ...... ix Statement of Authenticity ...... x Acknowledgements...... xi PART I: THE QUESTIONS OF CLEVER CHILDREN ...... 1

Introducing the Clever Children ...... 2

A question of meaning ...... 6 Gaps in the literature ...... 15 Research questions...... 23 Can the historical narratives linking the Clever Children with an experimental music tradition be substantiated with reference to their artistic practice?...... 24 What are the historical narratives and key musical and conceptual traits of the experimental music tradition and Electronica identified in existing literature as precursive to or having influence on the Clever Children? ...... 25 What areas of congruence or confluence exist between the experimental music tradition, Electronica and specific works of the Clever Children in which experimental influence has been claimed?...... 25 In what way do such confluences and congruencies support or undermine the claims of influence made by or on behalf of the Clever Children in each instance and across the multiple cases? ...... 25 ‘Between’ Method Research Design...... 26

‘Lost’ histories and Clever Children...... 26 Case selection...... 29 Musical analysis, transcription and ‘the score’...... 31 Interviews...... 37 Notes on participants and notational schema...... 39 Document review and the use of secondary sources...... 40 Summary ...... 42

PART II: AN HISTORICAL CONTEXT ...... 44

Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition ...... 45

Introduction...... 45 Noise ...... 47 Futurism ...... 48 Edgard Varèse...... 49 John Cage...... 50 New sounds, new technologies ...... 52 Process and indeterminacy...... 57 Stasis and repetition ...... 62 Summary of key musical and conceptual traits ...... 72 Elder Siblings – A Brief History of Electronica ...... 75

Introduction...... 75 Dub...... 77 Kraftwerk ...... 78 Hip-Hop ...... 79 Disco ...... 83 House & Garage – Disco’s twins...... 85 Detroit Techno ...... 91 Raving, I’m raving!! – The UK sound...... 97 Jungle / Drum ’n Bass...... 105 IDM, ambience and experimentalism ...... 110 Summary of key musical and conceptual traits ...... 113 Comparison of Key Musical and Conceptual Traits ...... 117

PART III: COLLECTIVE CASE STUDY...... 124

Case Study One: Reich Remixed – Minimalism and DJ Culture...... 125

Howie B ...... 127 Eight Lines Remix ...... 130 Structure ...... 130 Instrumentation and the use of samples ...... 134 Harmony / melody ...... 136 Rhythm...... 139 Timbre, effects and sonic treatments...... 142 Discussion ...... 145

Case Study Two: Surface Noise – A Cagean Approach to Electronica ...... 149

Robin Rimbaud ...... 150 Minimalist influence ...... 157 Surface Noise ...... 158 The ‘score’...... 158 Discussion ...... 166 Case Study Three: Errata Erratum – Online Systems Music...... 171

DJ Spooky, That Subliminal Kid ...... 171 Experimental influence ...... 175 Errata Erratum...... 182 Discussion ...... 189 PART IV: A Case for Progignere...... 193

Conclusions and Implications for Future Research...... 194

Implications for Future Research...... 202 From Clever Children to Voices in the Desert...... 207 References ...... 209

Appendix A ...... 227

Interview with Howard Bernstein via telephone, 22 April 2005 ...... 227 Appendix B ...... 234

Interview with Robin Rimbaud (Scanner) via email, 28 November 2004...... 234 Appendix C ...... 239

Interview with Paul D Miller (DJ Spooky) via email, 30 May 2005...... 239 Appendix D ...... 247

Informed Consent Information Sheet Supplied to all Participants...... 247 Appendix E ...... 250

CD of Audio Examples ...... 250

List of Figures

Figure 1: Concept map of research project structure...... 42

Figure 2: Comparison of musical and conceptual traits in Experimental and Electronica ...... 118

Figure 3: Plot of instrumentation against time of Eight Lines Remix...... 131

Figure 4: Piano Loop 1 as scored for Piano 1 in Eight Lines Bar 1. p. 1 ...... 136

Figure 5: Piccolo Loop as present in Eight Lines Remix...... 136

Figure 6: Piccolo Loop as scored for Piccolo in Eight Lines p. 47 beginning Bar 373...... 136

Figure 7: Clarinet Loop as present in Howie B’s Eight Lines Remix...... 137

Figure 8: Clarinet Loop as scored for Clarinet 1 in Eight Lines p. 6 beginning Bar 41...... 137

Figure 9: Clarinet ‘Solo’ as present in Howie B’s Eight Lines Remix beginning at 3:34 ...... 138

Figure 10: Element of Clarinet ‘Solo’ as scored for Clarinet 1 in Eight Line p. 77 beginning Bar 609...... 138

Figure 11: Element of Clarinet ‘Solo’ as scored for Clarinet 2 in Eight Lines p. 57 beginning Bar 461...... 138

Figure 12: Juxtaposition of loops in Section A1 of Eight Lines Remix...... 140

Figure 13: String Loop 1 as present in Howie B’s Eight Lines Remix beginning 0:59 ...... 140

Figure 14: String Loop 1 as scored for Violins 1 & 2 in Eight Lines p. 1 beginning Bar 1...... 140

Figure 15: Hi Hat Pattern...... 141

Figure 16: Kick and Snare Drum Loop beginning 3:34 ...... 141

Figure 17: String Loop 4 taken from Eight Lines score Bar 443. P. 56 ...... 141

Figure 18: Piano Loop 3 as present in Eight Lines Remix beginning 1:49...... 142

Figure 19: Piano Loop 3 as scored for Piano 1 in Eight Lines p. 35 beginning Bar 286...... 142

Figure 20: Piano Loop 4 as present in Eight Lines Remix beginning 1:49...... 142

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Figure 21: Piano Loop 4 taken from Piano 2 Eight Lines score p. 43 beginning bar 335 ...... 143

Figure 22: Resulting rhythm pattern from Piano Loops 3 & 4...... 143

Figure 23: Cow Bell Loop as present in Eight Lines Remix beginning 1:50...... 143

Figure 24: Musical and conceptual traits found in ‘Eight Lines Remix’...... 146

Figure 25: Time plot of Surface Noise Section One...... 160

Figure 26: Westminster Quarters...... 163

Figure 27: Musical and conceptual traits found in ‘Surface Noise’ ...... 167

Figure 28: Web interface for Miller's Errata Erratum ...... 184

Figure 29: One of the five ‘decks’ utilised by Errata Erratum...... 184

Figure 30: Musical and conceptual traits found in‘Errata Erratum’...... 190

Figure 31: Overview of key traits of experimental music and Electronica plotted against traits present in the Collective Case Study...... 198

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List of Tables

Table 1: Samples and their location in the remix ...... 132

Table 2: Timbral changes present in Eight Lines Remix by section ...... 144

Statement of Authenticity

The work contained in this dissertation has not previously been submitted for a degree or diploma at any other higher education institution. To the best of my knowledge and belief, the dissertation contains no material previously published or written by another person except where due reference is made in the dissertation itself.

David Carter

19 June 2008

Acknowledgements

Innumerable thanks go to my principle supervisor Professor Paul Draper for his counsel, criticism and support throughout the period of my PHD candidature. Without his personal and professional commitment and encouragement this research would not have been possible. I would also like to thank Professor Huib Schippers and Dr Stephen Emmerson for their valuable insight and guidance throughout the research and writing process.

Similar thanks go to Professor Peter Roenfeldt in his role as Director of the Queensland Conservatorium for financially supporting my candidature through the provision of an Australian Postgraduate Award Scholarship and to Jenny Bromley as Graduate Students Officer for her administrative support.

This dissertation was completed in studios, bedrooms, venues and tour-buses across two continents and for this I would like to thank FAQ for the welcome reprieve from the introversion of writing and Indee Records for the unique opportunity to be part of a music industry in the making.

Final thanks go to my family – for teaching me how to think for myself and always supporting the results; friends – for support and disinterest in appropriate amounts; and Linda – for all that I could hope for.

For Linda, confidant, inspiration and fellow adventurer who knows me better than anyone else and decided to share the road with me anyway.

To YHWH, for the exhortation not to waste the privileges, gifts and opportunities I have been given.

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PART I: THE QUESTIONS OF CLEVER CHILDREN

Introducing the Clever Children

In 1974, music critic Michael Nyman published Experimental Music: Cage and Beyond, a history in progress of the then marginal and developing experimental music tradition. Cage and Beyond documented the music, compositional practice and philosophical underpinnings of many key figures in the experimental tradition such as John Cage, Steve Reich, Cornelius Cardew, Philip Glass, Terry Riley, Alvin Lucier, Gavin Bryars and La Monte Young. Twenty-five years later in the preface to a second edition of the same work, Nyman queries the lack of scholarly work documenting contemporary experimental music (1999; xvii-xviii). Specifically, Nyman calls for a “Son of Experimental Music” (p. xvii) that would detail the development and influence of experimental and post-experimental composers in order to extrapolate a 25–year history that Nyman felt had been neglected. This situation is not unique to the experimental music tradition, but is in fact symptomatic of a wider neglect throughout much of the twentieth century, of many forms of music that fall outside the western 'classical' canon (Middleton, 1999) or mainstream popular music. In the editor’s preface to Settling The Pop Score: Pop Texts and Identity Politics, Derek Scott (2002) argues that,

The upheaval that occurred in musicology during the last two decades of the twentieth century has created a new urgency for the study of popular music alongside the development of new critical and theoretical models. A relativistic outlook has replaced the universal perspective of modernism (the international ambitions of the 12-note style); the grand narrative of the evolution and dissolution of tonality has been challenged, and the emphasis has shifted to cultural context, reception and subject position. Together, these have conspired to eat away at the status of canonical composers and categories of high and low in music. A need has arisen . . to recognise and address the emergence of crossovers, mixed and new genres, to engage in debates concerning the vexed problem of what constitutes authenticity in music and to offer a critique of musical practice as the product of free, individual expression. (p. vii)

What makes this situation of particular relevance to experimental music is the manner in which composers such as John Cage and Steve Reich appear to have had their ideas and music appropriated by a range of artists and musicians external to the experimental music tradition identified by Nyman. Bill Martin (2002) claims that since the 1960s, there has been a tradition of pop and rock musicians appropriating elements of experimental and avant-garde music “from John Cage Introducing The Clever Children 2

and Cecil Taylor to King Crimson, Sonic Youth, Jim O’Rourke, and Bjork” (p. xiii). More recently, the adoption of ideas taken from experimental music has been associated with composers of popular electronic music forms (for example Techno). Kim Cascone (2000) suggests that during the early 1990s, a fringe group of popular electronic composers, seeking new areas for musical innovation, began to invoke the works of composers such as Karlheinz Stockhausen and John Cage (p. 395). Cox and Warner (2004) posit that such composers represent a “new breed of electronic experimentalism [and are part of] a large and growing body of electronic musicians whose experimental sensibilities reflect the whole history of electronic music, from Schaeffer and Stockhausen to Techno and beyond” (p. 365). Similarly, Emmerson (2007) refers to “examples of experimental ‘electronica/IDM’” (p. 31) that he believes draws on influences “from a wide range of avant-garde, ambient and post-techno sound materials” (Ibid; p. 82).

In part, these assertions are the result of claims by the artists themselves regarding the influence of the experimental music tradition on their own work. Such claims are problematic however, as little documentary evidence is available to support them. Moreover such assertions are often accompanied by contradictory or conflicting statements by the artists themselves. Richard James (Aphex Twin) for example, has at various times cited Steve Reich, Philip Glass (1996), Karlheinz Stockhausen and Erik Satie (Weidenbaum, 1997) as influences on his work while also claiming to have “never had any inspiration for any music” (cited in Petros, 1994; online). Despite this, authors, composers and performers associated with the experimental music tradition often enthusiastically endorse the notion that their ideas have been appropriated by a new generation of ‘popular’ musicians. Writing in 2002, Ben Neill, composer and onetime leader of La Monte Young’s Theatre of Eternal Music Brass Ensemble, observes:

Pop electronic music is . . rapidly incorporating many elements of art music: experimental live performance techniques . . conceptual and process-oriented composition . . collage . . performance art and theatrical spectacle . . and the extensive use of experimental software and hardware. (p. 388)

Neill contends that in the work of these types of artists “Experimentation [has] fully made its way to popular culture and a mass audience” (p. 389) and proclaims a “new art music” (p. 389) emergent within 1990s electronic dance music. In doing so Neill echoes Brian Eno’s observations in his introduction to the second

Introducing The Clever Children 3

edition of Cage and Beyond (Nyman, 1999) that “what started as an esoteric bubble at the very edges of music has become transmuted into a mainstream” (p. xii). Indeed, Philip Sherburne (2004) argues “it’s impossible to hear Steve Reich’s early tape works Come Out and It’s Gonna Rain and not hear the roots – however accidental – of contemporary Techno” (p. 321). This claim is echoed by Reich himself who acknowledges, “here's a generation that doesn't just like what I do, they appropriate it!” (cited in Abbot, 2002; p. 68). Similarly, an article published in The Wire (Witts & Young, 1996) positions composer Karlheinz Stockhausen as progenitor of a group of early 90s electronic producers, his so-called ‘clever children’.

These clever children are part of a group of DJs, producers and composers of electronic music identified across writings by Cascone (2000), Cox and Warner (2004), Emmerson (2000, 2007), Holmes (2002), Martin (2002), Neill (2002), Prendergast (1995), Toop (1995), Veale (2007), Witts and Young (1996) and others, as being in some way related to, or progeny of, experimental and / or avant-garde composers. The artists identified include: Pan Sonic; Oval; Richard James (Aphex Twin); LTJ Bukem; Daniel Pemberton; Squarepusher; Autechre; Omni Trio; Wagon Christ; Goldie; Richie Hawtin (Plastikman); Coldcut; Thomas Brinkmann; Robin Rimbaud (Scanner); DJ Shadow; Merzbow; Paul Miller (DJ Spooky); DJ Olive; DJ QBert; Tone Lok and; Björk. Exemplary rather than definitive, this list does not include homage projects such as 1999s Reich Remixed or post-rock acts such as Tortoise or Sonic Youth, who cannot be classified as strictly ‘electronic’ and whose output belongs to a more clearly articulated lineage of rock music beginning with the Velvet Underground and progressing through punk rock, new-wave and ‘art-rock’ (Salzman, 1988; p. 228).

These artists cannot be said to represent, nor do they describe themselves as belonging to, a distinct genre or tradition per se but are instead linked by associations with key electronic, experimental and avant-garde composers and an ‘experimental’ approach to music making that is said to reflect the concerns of composers such as Cage and Stockhausen. Indeed, it was through my own interest, collectively, in Björk, Squarepusher, Scanner, DJ Spooky and Aphex Twin that I first came to really explore the works of composers such as Russolo, Henry, Varèse, Cage, Reich and Stockhausen. While I had been introduced to these ‘key figures’ as a music student it wasn’t until I was presented with a living Introducing The Clever Children 4

connection to my own culture and musical practice that I began to appreciate them as vital and relevant, even revolutionary. After an adolescence spent championing the songwriter-as-poet and manning the barricades on the Beatles side of the pop / classical divide I was awakened to the profound impact that sounds themselves can have as arbiters of ideas and meaning. This coincided with a renewed interest in the study of music analysis and history – I was, and perhaps still am, uncomfortable with the term musicology – as a way to provide a deeper understanding of and suggest new directions for my own professional practice as an audio engineer and producer1.

In the final year of my undergraduate music degree I immersed myself in a world of sometimes beautiful and, in retrospect, horribly unlistenable sounds. In between long nights in the recording studio honing my professional practice as an audio engineer I began reading Cage’s Silence (1968) and Reich’s Writings on Music (2002) alongside David Toop’s Oceans of Sound (1995); swimming in the apparently interconnected sounds of what Mark Prendergast terms The Ambient Century (1995). My reading and listening in turn influenced my practice and I began dabbling, then seriously engaging, in electronic music composition, even releasing an album of my own work – though to no great critical acclaim.

As my taste in music, and literature, moved on I began to think more critically about the discourse I had previously accepted or perhaps imposed in relation to the music and composers that fascinated me. The associations, inferred by Cascone, Cox and Warner, Neill and others, appear to have been formed deductively – through observation of similar musical ideas or traits that are used to infer influence – rather than inductively – through a rigorous and detailed examination of particular artists or works and their relationship to the experimental or avant-garde composers. The resultant narrative – that during the 1990s a fringe group of ‘popular’ electronic musicians emerged who (re)connected their work with twentieth century art music, citing Cage, Stockhausen, Reich and others as primary influences – is thus predicated on purportedly shared approaches to music making. This narrative is becoming pervasive, particularly in magazines such as The Wire (Emmerson, 2007), and has

1 Inspired particularly by Moylan’s Art of Recording: Understanding and Crafting the Mix (2002). Introducing The Clever Children 5

gone largely unchallenged despite a lack of clear antecedence or rigorous and detailed research.

This state of affairs is symptomatic of what Holmes (2002) has described as a ‘loss of history’, and reflects the increasingly fractured and disposable nature of much popular music coupled with an increased emphasis on individually constructed and mediated identity and meaning. This coincides with a deep distrust of meta-narratives resulting from the popularisation of the (often equally individually constructed) grab-bag of philosophy, linguistics, critical theory, literary criticism, and pop-culture identified variously as ‘post-modernity’. Where once a clear line of influence may have been traced and musical developments plotted, we are now confronted by composers utilising musique concréte techniques to create minimalist inflected pieces while citing figures such as Stockhausen and (German rock group) Kraftwerk as primary influences. More broadly these trends can be understood as a function of the accelerated technological and cultural change experienced in western (and many non-western) societies in the late twentieth century. The advent of widely available recording technology and of cheap playback mediums, as well as digital encoding algorithms such as Mpeg layer 3 and peer-to-peer file-sharing networks have conspired to obscure and problematise the emergence of new musical styles amidst the vast torrent of music, art, culture and ideas available at the click of a mouse button. These factors have contributed to an increasingly complex juxtaposition of ideas and influences brought to bear on the acts of music creation, realisation and reception as well as an appreciation for our culturally mediated conceptions of what music is, how it is constructed and how it functions as an expressive and communicative medium: what might be termed the musical discourse. Rather than directly undermine the claims presented above, this ‘loss of history’ instead reveals a need for research challenging the historical narrative that has emerged linking experimental and avant-garde composers with forms of ‘popular’ electronic music.

A question of meaning

Given the lack of established academic discourse, it is useful to consider the terminology to be used throughout this dissertation in order to refer to the broader musical traditions under discussion. There is also a need to articulate what is

Introducing The Clever Children 6

meant by commonly used descriptors such as experimental music in the context of this research as the terminology is not consistently applied or understood in the same way. The purpose in doing so is not to re-brand, repurpose or in some other way lay claim to particular works or composers, nor to (re)write or right musical history, but instead to provide an established reference for what is meant by particular terms in the context of this dissertation. Language and human classification are particularly imperfect tools through which to mediate meaning as they can imply all manner of unintended associations and consequences. Subsequently it is important to unpack the potentially loaded terminologies used in this dissertation while acknowledge that, in the absence of a better communicative medium, concessions must be made to the need for a practical lexicon. Ultimately it is humans and not language that mean anything and we must make do with the tools at our disposal to convey that meaning as best we can.

As indicated above, there are a number of categorisations used among commentators to describe the group of artists identified above by Cox and Warner (2004), Neill (2002), et al. Most prominently these include Glitch, Ambient, Electronic Listening Music and Intelligent Dance Music (IDM). Unhelpfully such terms suggest associations with specific genres or periods of electronic music that fail to encompass the breadth of musical practice exemplified by the ‘Illbient’ Hip Hop of DJ Spooky, kinetic sonic pornography of Merzbow and the genre- hopping Icelandic pop of Björk (to name just three).

The labels Glitch and Ambient are most problematic because the terms are normally used to refer to particular genres (or sub-genres) of electronic music. Glitch, for example, generally refers to a style of electronic music predicated on the creative abuse of, primarily digital, music technologies. German group Oval, whose early work is often cited as pioneering ‘glitch’ music (Cascone, 2000), crafted their album Systemisch (1996) from the clicks, glitches and skips created by mutilating the readable surface of a compact disc. As a genre label Ambient was first used to refer to producer Brian Eno’s 1970s albums such as Music for Airports and On Land. In Eno’s original conception, Ambient described environmental music used to enhance acoustic spaces by creating a particular mood or atmosphere (Eno, 1978). In more recent usage the term has been used to refer to artists, such as The Orb and KLF, whose work focuses on a Introducing The Clever Children 7

contemplative, atmospheric listening experience with a commensurate shift away from rhythm and harmony as structural devices in favour of timbre and texture (Marcus, 2000).

Electronic listening music and IDM come closer to providing a useful nomenclature in that these terms are generally used to describe electronic music that occurs within a popular culture context that, perhaps oxymoronically in the case of IDM, is not normally utilised for the purposes of dancing. Both terms can be best understood as relating to a subset of electronic dance music emerging from the UK Rave scene in the late 1990s. Referred to in some instance as ‘armchair techno’, these forms of music are most helpfully understood as a reaction against the increasing speed and intensity of ‘popular’ dance music forms at the time. As stylistic labels Electronic listening music and IDM are often used to refer to any music functioning as a soundtrack to the chill-out spaces and drug induced comedowns associated with 1990s Rave culture. Though not implying specific genre associations in the same way as Ambient or Glitch these terms do still infer a particular cultural, historical, geographical and musical context that is unaccommodatingly specific in this instance. Significantly both terms also engender a divide between dancefloor and domicile not always reflected in the works of the artists such as Aphex Twin whose Didgeridoo and Windowlicker became dancefloor hits. Furthermore the use of these terms can invoke the spectre of ‘high art’ by establishing a disagreeable binary opposition with the ‘popular’ electronic dance of the time. IDM is particularly unsatisfactory in this regard due to the implicit value judgement that other ‘dance’ music is somehow unintelligent. In fact the work of composers such as DJ Spooky is predicated on moving nimbly across the nexus of ‘popular’ and ‘art’ (even ‘unpopular’) musics, as evidenced by Neill’s (2002) suggestion that “Experimentation [has] fully made its way to popular culture” (p. 389).

Further complications arise from a confusion of definitions and terminology between, and sometimes within, scholarly and journalistic writings. Emmerson (2007), for example, unhelpfully conflates IDM with Electronica (discussed below) and goes on to suggest that

definition [of such terms] is impossible. They refer to a cluster of practices, emerging from the late 1980s (though with many precursors) from a group of musicians and DJs – loosely centred on club culture – who refer to but stretch way beyond bounds Introducing The Clever Children 8

[sic] the conventions of techno, dance genres and other electronically produced popular musics (pp. 80–81).

Perplexingly Emmerson goes on to defines both terms as “experimental electronic music forms which have emerged from a cross-cultural mix of (mostly) popular and (some) art-music influences” (p. 81). Clarifying that “I am here concerned with how we listen to and talk about genres with substantially different aesthetic presumptions and artistic aims but with much in material and evident technical tools in common” (p. 81). What Emmerson is describing is exactly the territory that this dissertation is interested in but his use of terminology, while wonderfully exemplary, is confused and confusing.

In the absence of a more suitable categorisation I will appropriate Rob Young’s (1996) use of the term ‘Clever Children’ to refer to composers, producers and DJ’s of electronic music who are to claimed represent a “new breed [my emphasis] of electronic experimentalism” (Cox and Warner, 2004; p. 365). This term has the advantage of having already been used to discuss links between the work of Stockhausen and artists such as Scanner and Aphex Twin (Witts & Young, 1996) and reflects the assertions in existing literature regarding such artists relationship to their supposed antecedents in experimental and avant-garde music. The use of Clever Children as a descriptor also reflects Cox and Warner’s reference to “genealogies [their emphasis] of contemporary musical practices” (2004; p. xiv) rather than musical ‘histories’ and, more broadly, a tendency2 amongst authors chronicling the Clever Children to link artists and composers based on similar musical, ideological or aesthetic traits rather than clear historical developments (discussed in more detail below). Less helpfully ‘Clever Children’, when applied as a descriptive terminology, may imply immaturity or childishness on the part of the artists it is used to refer to. Similarly ‘clever’ may infer a tacit (perhaps even explicit) value judgement between ‘clever’ and ‘unclever’ in a similarly problematic way to Intelligent Dance Music. Such secondary ‘loaded’ implications are worthy of consideration but in this instance the need for a suitable terminology combined with the precedent use of the term to infer a relationship between the artists identified and experimental / avant-garde

2 Perhaps itself a function of popularised understandings of post-modern epistemology and heterogeneity. Introducing The Clever Children 9

composers overrides such concerns at both a practical and abstract level. Consequently the term Clever Children is applied cautiously, acknowledging it’s faults while also conscious of the practical necessity for a lexical distinction to separate the group of DJs, producers and composers of electronic music identified above from the broader field of electronic music within a popular culture context, itself in need of careful definition.

The Clever Children came to prominence within the context of 1990s electronic dance music and can be more broadly placed within a continuum of electronic music that encompasses popular music forms such as Disco, Dub, Hip Hop and Techno. Though related to the development of electronic music within Western Art Music (including musique concrete, electro-acoustic music and computer music), at least in terms of a shared appropriation of music technology, this ‘popular’ electronic music represents a distinct musical tradition with its own history, culture and innovators. In fact Emmerson (2007) suggests that in spite of the widespread deconstruction of modernist dualities “these genres remain stubbornly separate from a mirror set of initiatives from within the ‘art music’ world” (p. 71). In order to distinguish between these two contexts, the term ‘Electronica’ is used here to refer to a subset of electronic music that occurs within a broad popular culture context during the latter part of the twentieth century and beyond. Electronica has been used by some commentators to refer specifically to work within electronic music that is external to the art music tradition and intended for a home listening environment (for example, Cox & Warner, 2004). However in recent discourse the term has also been used as a stand-in for the less useful ‘Electronic Dance Music’.

Electronic Dance Music (EDM) is often used to refer to ‘popular’ electronic music forms (as in Peel, 2005b and Cox & Warner, 2004) and more specifically, through a growing body of work within cultural studies dedicated to the mapping of particular political, social and sexual ideologies within EDM (sub) cultures, infers an association with dance music of the late 80s and early 90s in the US and UK (for example Gilbert and Pearson, 1999). As evidenced by its use in recent doctoral theses (see Ferigno, 2008 and Butler, 2003), EDM is becoming a default, perhaps derivative / genre independent, term for electronic music in popular culture as distinct from Western Art music. The use of EDM in this manner is problematic however as not all forms of ‘popular’ electronic music referred to in Introducing The Clever Children 10

this dissertation are intended for a clubbing audience, nor for dancing. More importantly the associations that EDM has with particular dance (sub) cultures unhelpfully delineates, for the purposes of this enquiry, musical forms, genres and histories based on modes of consumption rather than production. Instead of distinguishing between Techno (a form of Electronic Dance Music), Dub and Hip Hop, for example, on the basis of their (quite different) cultural contexts this dissertation includes all three under the banner of Electronica because they are created primarily through electronic means utilising electronically (re)produced sound.

Of course this same definition could be applied to all electronic music and caution must be taken to clarify that the use of the term Electronica is needed as a practical measure to differentiate between the parallel, albeit related, historical narratives describing the development of electronic music forms within the contexts of Western Art Music, generally discussed in the context of the first three quarters of the twentieth century, and popular culture from the mid 1960s onward. The distinction between Electronica and, say, electro-acoustic music is not intended to perpetuate binary opposition between ‘high’ and ‘low’ art or Western Art Music and popular music. In fact not all Electronica is intended for or consumed by a popular music audience and in some instances, as in the work of the Clever Children, deliberately crosses the ambiguous divide between ‘art’, ‘popular’ and ‘unpopular’ culture. This reality is borne out in recent literature such as the Cambridge Companion to Electronic Music, in which Nicholls uses Electronica to encompass “popular electronic music . . . also including many forms of experimental electronic music” (in Collins & d’Escriván, 2007; p. 3) while Oswald applies the term as a catchall for any electronic music that is not electro-acoustic music (cited in Collins and d’Escriván, 2007; p. 74). Similarly Cascone (2000) identifies Electronica as “an umbrella term for alternative, largely dance based electronic music … including House, Techno, electro, drum ‘n’ bass [and] Ambient” (p. 395). It is with this precedence that Electronica is applied as a categorisation throughout this dissertation, with the proviso that the term is not, as yet, universally used or understood in this way.

The final label that requires some discussion is ‘experimental music’ or perhaps more contentiously the ‘experimental music tradition’. As part of an established discourse relating to ‘art’ music the ‘experimental’ tag brings with it the most Introducing The Clever Children 11

baggage and is subsequently most problematic. At its broadest ‘experimentalism’ may be thought of as referring to an approach to music making, indeed any forms of human endeavour, which seeks out the unknown through intuitive or inductive experimentation. Certainly this confers with Cage’s own definition of experimental music as “an act the outcome of which is unknown” (1968; p. 13). If this is taken as a foundational assertion experimental music might then be thought of as any work that is non-deterministic, suggesting a wide field of musical expression that is, by its nature, in a constant state of flux.

When placed in context of the various musical histories of the twentieth century however ‘experimental music’ takes on a more specific association with a miscellany of composers (usually) clustered around John Cage and his contemporaries. Consensus regarding the intent, chronology and categorisation of such a movement (if it is even identified as such) is rarely found however and the ascribed meaning of the terminology is subject to a range of philosophical, cultural and musical interpretations. While Cope (2001) and Nyman (1999), for example, exhibit some level of agreement regarding the scope of experimental music3 Cope identifies experimentalism as a function of broader musical directions in the twentieth century distinct, though related to, indeterminacy and minimalism. Nyman on the other hand subsumes indeterminacy and minimalism under the moniker of experimental music as a distinct musical tradition defined in opposition to the avant-garde. Conflatingly, Manning (2004) and Emmerson (2007), among others, draw on many of the same composers and works identified by Nyman as exemplary of the experimental music tradition to outline the development of electro-acoustic and computer musics. Perhaps the primary reason for these varying narratives is because, as Yates (1967) points out, experimental music does not represent “a concentrated tradition like the Germanic but a widely dispersed and weedlike growth of fresh ideas in new soil” (p. 273).

The meaning of ‘experimental music’ becomes even more imprecise when used in relation to the antecedents of the Clever Children. Where Nyman (1999) goes to great lengths to distinguish experimental music from the avant-garde, authors such as Holmes and Martin make little meaningful distinction between the two

3 Nyman’s predicated on Cage’s “questioning of the traditional unities of composing, performing and listening” (1999; p. 2) while Cope (2001) suggests “a redefining of the boundaries of music” (p. 103). Introducing The Clever Children 12

bringing into question whether Nyman’s distinction is still relevant. Martin (2002) freely interchanges the terms ‘experimental’ and ‘avant-garde’ indicating that, to his mind at least, they are one and the same thing. He groups John Cage, Anton Webern, Karlheinz Stockhausen, Morton Feldman, Steve Reich, Lamonte Young, Stravinsky and Schoenberg as important or influential composers of the avant- garde tradition. Further, he describes the avant-garde as rooted in western European art and literature, late 60s / early 70s Jazz epitomised by John Coltrane and the American experimental music tradition of which John Cage could be considered a figurehead. Holmes (2002) on the other hand uses the term ‘experimental’ to refer to a range of composers and compositional / performance practices, encompassing Futurism, the avant-garde, the American Experimental ‘tradition’, musique concrète and Turntablism. Rather than representing confusion on the part of Holmes or Martin these somewhat inclusive representations of experimental music reflects the reality that in contemporary parlance the term doesn’t refer to a neatly defined tradition but instead a range of musics existing within the complex web of interrelated developments present in twentieth century art, culture, music and technology.

Though it may be ascribed as a function of post-modernity part of this complexity has undoubtedly to do with the prolific and varied output of composers such as John Cage. To repurpose Walt Whitman, Cage contains multitudes and his work and ideas figure prominently in contemporary narratives describing experimental music (Nyman, 1999;), electro-acoustic and computer music (Cope, 2001; Holmes, 2002; Emmerson, 2007; Manning, 2004) and the avant-garde more generally (Griffiths, 1995; Martin, 2002; Morgan, 1991). In fact much of Cage’s work, be it experimental or otherwise, conforms most closely with Wishart’s (1996) notion of sonic art, comprising “music and electro-acoustic music . . . [focusing] upon the structure and structuring of sounds themselves” (p. 4). Regardless of where, or if, Cage should be positioned in relation to these narratives what emerges, as the various associations and contradictions are teased out, is that ‘experimental music’ as a descriptive terminology lacks distinction.

Of course neither musical categorisation nor tradition are static objects and it is the contemporaneous usage of ‘experimental’ constructed in relation to the work of the Clever Children, rather than how such terms may have been conceptualised in the past, that is of most relevance to this research. When Cox and Warner Introducing The Clever Children 13

(2004) refer to a “new breed of electronic experimentalism . . . whose experimental sensibilities reflect the whole history of electronic music, from Schaeffer and Stockhausen to Techno and beyond” (p. 365) they use ‘experimental’ as a verb in much the same way as Cage (1968), namely “an act the outcome of which is unknown” (p. 13). However the history of electronic music that Cox and Warner claim is reflected by this new experimentalism suggests electro-acoustic music on the one hand (Schaeffer, Stockhausen) and Electronica (Techno) on the other. This discongruity is picked up on by Emmerson (2007) who observes that:

Increasingly an ‘alternative’ view of electro-acoustic music history is appearing . . . which claims for all experimental music made with technology, a lineage including a mix of (typically) Varèse, Stockhausen, Xenakis, Cage, Pierre Schaeffer, Pierre Henry, Steve Reich and other ‘avant-garde pioneers’ (p. 63).

While Emmerson is highly critical of this alternative narrative, preferring to positions such developments as functions of the electro-acoustic tradition, he succinctly identifies the manner in which the terms ‘experimental music’ and ‘experimentalism’ are applied and understood with respect to the Clever Children. Emmerson points to a constructed canon or tradition of experimentalism that foreshadows and, in some writers work4 provides precedence for, the emergence of the Clever Children within Electronica in the late 1990s.

When examined from this perspective the makeup and function of such an experimental music tradition is brought into sharp relief. It is, as Emmerson suggests, a constructed lineage of composers described as being in some way antecedent to the Clever Children. When taken in concert this lineage could be said to include music of the twentieth century that radically challenges the dominant musical norms of composition, realisation and reception of musical works within the composers historical, cultural and musical context, often through the application of new music technologies. Though I will return to specifics, the who and why, later in this dissertation, such a definition would be inclusive of figures such as Cage and Stockhausen as well as, more generally, musique concrete, minimalism, electro-acoustic music and the avant-garde. Of course

4 See Cascone, 2000; Cox and Warner, 2004; Holmes, 2002; Martin, 2002; McClary, 2004; Neill, 2002; Prendergast, 1995; Toop, 1995. Introducing The Clever Children 14

post-modernity, and academic rigour, promotes a healthy distrust of such meta- narratives and the very notion of ‘tradition’ and by extension influence has become somewhat suspect. As Foucoult (1969) suggests

These pre-existing forms of continuity, all these syntheses that are accepted without question, must remain in suspense. They must not be rejected definitively of course, but the tranquillity with which they are accepted must be disturbed; we must show that they do not come about of themselves, but are always the result of a construction the rules of which must be known, and the justifications of which must be scrutinised: we must define in what conditions and in view of which analyses certain of them are legitimate; and we must indicate which of them can never be accepted in any circumstances. (p. 25).

Consequently the experimental music tradition as discussed in the context of this research is to be understood, not as an established historical movement but, as a “claim[ed] precedence within an assumed historical stream” (Emmerson, 2007; p. 75) relating specifically to the claims of antecedence regarding the Clever Children. In this instance ‘tradition’ is not an object to be theorised but an assertion to be tested and so it will be necessary, throughout this dissertation, to examine the relationship of the Clever Children to their ‘parents’ in significantly more detail and rigour than has been applied in the literature thus far.

Gaps in the literature

Musicological works, both historical and analytical, document the development and, to a lesser degree, the influence of the experimental music tradition. Nyman’s Experimental Music: Cage and Beyond (1999) remains an important text alongside more recent works such as Holmes’ Electronic and Experimental Music (2002) and Shultis’ Silencing the Sounded Self (1998). In addition, sources written by composers within the experimental music tradition are augmented by a number of works focussing on the work of particular composers central to the experimental music tradition discussed above. Additionally various historical works of musicology such as Morgan’s Twentieth-Century Music (1991) and Griffith’s Modern Music and After (1995) outline the work of composers such as Cage, Stockhausen, Reich and Varèse within the context of developments in Western Art music over the course of the twentieth century. These works are of limited use to this investigation as their focus appears to preclude exploring the

Introducing The Clever Children 15

impact, if any, that such composers have had outside of Western Art music. Where such inferences are made, they generally concern the influence of the adoption of music technologies on rock and popular music. Salzman (1988) for example argues for a number of links between avant-garde music and rock, though he refers only in passing to “disco [and] certain forms of electronic music” with little context and no exposition (p. 229).

By contrast, popular music journalists, authors and scholars are much more engaged with the ‘experimental’ fringe of Electronica. Prendergast’s The Ambient Century (1995) places key developments within the experimental music tradition and certain Clever Children within the context of a meta-narrative of ‘ambience’ in music spanning the twentieth century. Suffering from the problems inherent in trying to codify the extraordinary variety of twentieth century music into a cohesive narrative, Prendergast’s work is highly selective and does not justify his claims with suitable argumentation or rigour. Similarly David Toop’s somewhat esoteric Ocean of Sound (1995) draws an amorphous free association between the work of Cage, Reich, Varèse and other key figures in twentieth century art music with contemporary electronic composers and performers such as Scanner, Aphex Twin and DJ Spooky. Holmes (2002) provides perhaps the best exposition of both the experimental music tradition and its influences outside of Western Art music but falls short of detailing historical developments linking the experimental tradition to Electronica. While mentioning artists such as DJ Spooky and the Incredibl Scratch Picklz, Holmes falls short of discussing the actual history and developments of Electronica, though his book does close with references to the adoption of technology within popular or mainstream music along with an associated “loss of history” (p. 273). Such shortcomings reflect the wider reality that neither analytical nor historical musicological texts have engaged deeply with Electronica generally, or the Clever Children specifically.

Two notable exceptions are recent PHD dissertations by Mark Butler (2003; later published by Wesleyan Press in 2006) and Emily Ferrigno (2008). Butler’s work Unlocking the groove: rhythm, meter and musical design in electronic dance music presents detailed musical analyses of the way in which rhythm and meter are used across a number of forms of Electronic Dance Music (interchangeable with Electronica in the context of this dissertation). Ferrigno’s Technologies of creation: creating and performing drum and bass is more specific in its focus on Introducing The Clever Children 16

the Jungle / Drum ‘n Bass idiom within Electronica while at the same time exploring a broader sphere of enquiry that addressing issues of culture and context more fully. Both works are significant for their engagement with forms of Electronica as music but this distinction only serves to highlight the lack of similar scholarly material. Other recent scholarly research engaging with Electronica, such as Sellin’s DJ: performer, cyborg, dominatrix (2005) and Vechiolla’s Detroit’s rhythmic resistance: electronic music and community pride (2006), tend to approach the subject matter from the perspective of cultural theory, largely ignoring the role of analysis in informing our understanding of music and its (culturally informed and mediated) meanings. As Ferrigno (2008) herself notes of the field:

with the exception of Butler's study, there is a surprising lack of focus on musical analysis and a virtual absence of an approach that would seek to examine sound and structure as narratives of culture (p. 15)

The current state of scholarship about rather than around Electronica bears strong resemblance to the study of ‘Rock’ music in the early 1990s. At the time Moore (1993) noted, with some exasperation, that “Rock is now well into its third decade . . . and is still, at the detailed level, largely unstudied” (p. 1). Replace ‘Rock’ with ‘Electronica’ and Moore could be perfectly describing the field under discussion here, though Electronica is now more accurately moving into it’s fourth decade.

Recent publications such as the Cambridge Companion to Electronic Music (2007) refer only peripherally to electronic music that occurs outside of academic or art music contexts. This is apparently a deliberate exclusion rather than an oversight. Kevin Saunderson does contribute a paragraph on Techno but this appears little more than a concession as his is the only direct reference to the style in the entire book. Similarly, Joel Chadabe’s Electric Sound: The Past and Promise of Electronic Music (1997) makes no real reference to Techno, Hip Hop or any number of other key musical developments driving the adoption and application of electronic sound sources within the popular music tradition. Manning’s Electronic and Computer Music (2004) comes closer to engaging with Electronica within the history of electro-acoustic and computer music but such links are not explored in any depth and are predicated on modes of production rather than with musical analysis. Within the ten pages devoted to ‘Rock and Pop Electronic Music’, Manning focuses primarily on the adoption of music Introducing The Clever Children 17

technology, notably the synthesizer, by “rock and pop music . . . during the late 1960s and early 1970s” (2004, p. 168). Devoting the bulk of his attention to ‘rock’ acts such as the Beatles, Beach Boys, Jimi Hendrix and Pink Floyd Manning does eventually address Electronica skipping fleetingly over Disco, Hip- Hop, Ambient (name-checking Aphex Twin) and Techno while providing almost no context for each genres development and no real discussion of the music. Manning suggests that “the most important feature of Techno has been its extensive use of electronic music technology . . . [and that] the demands of popular music have become the dominant driving force in the development of new commercial products” (2004; p. 178). For Manning, Electronica appears only worthy of interest inasmuch as it functions as a footnote to electro-acoustic and computer music resulting from the commercialisation of technologies developed for more serious applications. Similar predilection is evidenced by the way in which Electronica is dealt with primarily as an offshoot of pop music rather than as a form of musical expression in its own right. The Cambridge Companion to Rock and Pop (2001) restricts discussion of the various forms of Electronica to a chapter on 'dance music' of which a scant half devoted to electronic music forms while Grove Music Online clearly delineates Electronica as popular music, as distinct from the Western Art and electro-acoustic traditions.

Further complicating matters is the confusion among authors regarding the development of electronic musical styles. Ian Peel’s fifteen paragraph discussion of ‘Dance Music’ in Grove Music Online provides only a scant overview of the tradition and is, at times, factually incorrect. For example,

In the late 1980s, Hip-Hop developed into House when Derrick May, based in Detroit, combined it with funk and soul grooves, the use of 4/4 beat-based drum machines and early sampling techniques. Other early instigators of house included Carl Craig and Todd Terry. The first house records to achieve mass appeal in the UK were Love can't turn around (1986) by Farly Jackmaster Funk, followed by the UK's first number one house hit, Jack Your Body (DJ Int., 1986) by Steve Silk Hurley (based in Chicago), and later by the UK's first home-grown house number one, Pump Up the Volume (4AD, 1987) by M/A/R/R/S, which was also one of the first Indie music-dance music crossover tracks. (Peel, 2005b; para. 12)

In fact, Derrick May and Carl Craig are proponents of a related, though distinct, style of electronic music known as Techno. While May’s Strings of Life (1987)

Introducing The Clever Children 18

did achieve widespread popularity and does include the use of synthetic strings, a mainstay of house music’s sound at the time, May did not invent the style which was instead the product of Chicago-based producers in the early 80s beginning, most probably, with Jesse Saunders’ On and On (1983) (Rietveld, 1992)5. Moreover, House is not, as suggested, an amalgamation of Hip-Hop, Funk and Soul but rather – both stylistically and culturally – an extension of Disco as noted in Fulford-Jones’ (2005c) article on the subject. Such blatant factual errors illustrate the lack of academic awareness of the field but are unfortunately all too common. While sites such as Wikipedia cannot as yet be considered of the same scholarly value, it is interesting to note that the factual errors regarding electronic dance music in Grove Music Online are not present in similar Wikipedia articles, which outline this much more efficiently and accurately.

Confusion also arises from the terminology used to describe electronic dance music as the lexicon is far from universally understood or systematically applied. The term Techno, for example, refers to a particular style of electronic dance music developed in Detroit in the 1980s. The term has also been used as a descriptor for all types of electronic dance music by scholars and pop culture commentators “so much so that almost any dance music that could not reasonably be described as house or garage was given the label” (Fulford-Jones, 2005e, online). Part of the problem arises from the complicated and unclear documentation of electronic dance music, (which, where it exists, tends towards sociological rather than musicological study) and the scarcity of original texts making definitive research difficult (Sherburne, 2004; p. 321). As Bracket notes writing about electronic music is problematic as the music

. . . discourages talk of auteurs, almost never contains verses and choruses, and, to complicate matters, is rife with musicians who are continually changing their names. The chief building blocks of pop music criticism of the last fifty years – concerts to review, albums to judge – are de-emphasized. (1999; p. 7)

As mentioned above, external to the field of musicology the most active engagement with Electronica can be found within the sphere of cultural studies (see Gilbert and Pearson, 1999; Thornton, 1996; O’Conner, Redhead and Wynne, 1997; for example). Such work valuably informs our understanding of the

5 See below at pp. 85–91 for further discussion. Introducing The Clever Children 19

function, ascribed value, production, consumption, perception and 'meaning' of music in culture with particular regard for the political, social and sexual. However research in this field is by its nature focussed on the context in which music occurs as until comparatively recently popular music was broadly seen as the realm of sociologists and cultural theorists. Such examinations of Electronica have then, understandably, tended towards consumption theory, the sociology of youth cultures and subcultures and the role of music in society. Consequently where historical narratives are described they tend to be demarcated by changes in culture not music. Further, the literature that best articulates the historical narratives concerning Electronica tends to be critical or journalistic, rather than academic. Shuker indicates that there exists a “substantial, historically situated, body of critical journalistic work” (2001, p. 85) that, whilst primarily interested in ‘rock’ music, does document the work, ideas, and practices of composers of Electronica. Martin (2002) cites UK publication The Wire as an “invaluable resource” (p. 191) and similar magazines such as Future Music, Keyboard Magazine and Wired often contain artist interviews, reviews, and discussions of composition technique and aesthetic or conceptual intent. In addition, a number of popular culture works and works of historical journalism do outline the field of Electronica and, to varying degrees, its history. Shapiro’s documentary Modulations (2000a) and the accompanying text are notable for providing an engaging overview of developments within Electronica, as is Simon Reynolds’ Energy Flash (1998). Such works do seek to address the historical development of Electronica but take a more sociological or historical approach, failing to engage with specific musical concerns in significant depth and often lacking any real insight into the musical makeup and developments of the forms of music they document.

There is also a lack of consensus as to how particular musical styles or genres came into existence and developed. In part this is testament to the, often complex, discourse surrounding how musical works and artists come to be grouped together for the purposes of classification and consumption (see Frith, 1996; Walser, 1993; Moore, 1993; DeNora, 2000 & 2003). Though emphasis may vary, it is generally

Introducing The Clever Children 20

agreed that style / genre6 labels can function as a sort of musical and sociological short-hand to communicate what music ‘sounds like’ as well as positioning musical producers, product and consumers within a commercial, social and cultural context in which meaning and value judgements are transacted. Problematically such short-hand relies on constructed, and hence subjective, signifiers that can vary dramatically depending on the commercial or cultural context. In addition, Frith (1996) notes that genre / style definitions are viewed differently by those musicians, marketers and consumers within a genre – for whom the boundaries are constantly being re-evaluated in light of new releases and directions – and those who study genres – who retrospectively examine the ways in which genre labels come to be associated with particular musicians and musical practices. Frith observes that these different approaches can come into conflict when attempting to situate genre / style developments in an historical context. The accounts given by those who experience such developments first- hand and those that study them after the fact will produce necessarily different understandings and interpretations of events.

I would extend Frith’s argument one step further and suggest that, with regards to Electronica, even accounts by ‘insiders’ vary significantly depending on where the author is placed in relation to the continuous adaptation of (sub) genres / cultures. Moreover variation in historical accounts can also occur depending on whether the definition of a particular style / genre leans more heavily on “delineating musical parameters” (Walser, 1993; p. 28) or the ways in which music is used or consumed, “illuminat[ing] music as it comes to be lodged within a wider network of objects and symbolic meanings” (DeNora, 2003; p. 135). A final complicating factor is the complex and constantly changing nature of many ‘popular’ music forms of the late twentieth century in general and Electronica in particular. Emmerson (2007) suggests that the categorisations associated with Electronica are extrinsic in that they “point outwards and refer to entire social cultures of their time . . . [and that] those references will progressively dissolve over time in both individual and collective memory” (p. 83). Consequently the histories of Electronica that do exist present varying, at times seemingly

6 The two terms are essentially interchangeable the purposes of this discussion as both are used to refer to the grouping of music and musicians into categories related to their creative output and how this is consumed. Introducing The Clever Children 21

contradictory, accounts of the development of key styles / genres as, regardless of how they are constructed, such labels will be necessarily transient and ambiguous (Moore, 1993).

As a subset of Electronica then, the work of the Clever Children falls largely outside the bounds of current scholarly discourse. While the emergence of this group of composers is noted in works such as Cox and Warner’s Audio Culture (2004), Martin’s Avant, Rock (2002) and Holmes’ Experimental and Electronic Music (2002), their music-making is not documented or discussed in specific detail and certainly to nowhere near the extent to which the works of Cage, Stockhausen or Varèse and their contemporaries are chronicled and picked over.

To date the only work to critically engage with the emergent narrative regarding Electronica’s relationship to the experimental and avant-garde is Emmerson’s Living electronic music (2007). Emmerson (2007) positions Electronica in an uneasy relationship with electro-acoustic / acousmatic music, convinced that “there remains a divide, hard to bridge, between the two streams” (p. 64). Referencing Witts and Young (1996) and Neill (2000), Emmerson (2007) suggests there is a classic head / heart dualism is at play between the ‘Apollonian’ music of Stockhausen and the ‘Dionysiac’ nature of Electronica while at the same time acknowledging that a symbiotic relationship exists between “Reich, Henry, Parmegiani, Xenakis and others” (ibid) and certain Electronica artists. Limiting his discussion of Electronica to a handful of pages and opting “not to examine any individual piece exhaustively” (ibid; p. 82), Emmerson ultimately arrives at a position that views Electronica as historically distinct from electro-acoustic music though acknowledging an “increasing exchange” (p. 87) between the two. Though mindful of the “’alternative’ view of electroacoustic [for my purposes conflatable with experimental] music history [that] is appearing (in publications such as the Wire (UK))” (p. 63), Emmerson fails to illuminate how or why such a ‘history’ may have emerged and whether it has any merit in helping to understand the work of the Clever Children that are the focus of this research.

Given the contemporary nature of the subject matter, it is perhaps unsurprising that the most detailed sources regarding the works of the Clever Children are written by the artists themselves. Though not extensive, these sources document the work and ideas of a number of Clever Children through (often self-published)

Introducing The Clever Children 22

articles, liner notes, manifestos and on the Internet. Paul Miller (DJ Spooky) has published articles detailing his artistic practice, philosophies and politics through his personal website (2002). One such article is included in Cox and Warner’s Audio Culture (2004) and a number of others are collated, in modified form, in Miller’s own book on DJ culture, Rhythm Science (2004a). Similarly, Robin Rimbaud (Scanner) has published in the Leonardo Music Journal (2001) discussing his compositional process and the conceptual underpinning of his work. Many of the Clever Children have discussed their work at length through interviews with fans and journalists published in a range of online and print sources. UK Magazine The Wire is notable in this regard for an engagement with the work of the Clever Children.

Therefore these artists are not as a whole, discussed in any great depth by music researchers and the claims made on their behalf are not always substantiated nor have they been scrutinised closely. Available literature reveals an inadequately documented period in music history of some 30 years in which it is inferred that an experimental music tradition has in some way birthed a generation of electronic music producers. This research project aims to explore the work of the Clever Children – be they bastards, orphans or protégés – to discern what, if any, relationship they bear to the experimental music tradition.

Research questions

The apparent appropriation of musical ideas by the supposed progeny of the experimental music tradition highlights the lack of scholarly work documenting the influence of this music on contemporary forms. This ‘loss of history’ (Holmes, 2002) has become increasingly pronounced while at the same time ‘fringe’ musical movements (including the experimental music tradition itself) have “become transmuted into a mainstream” (Eno, 1999; xii). With the emergence of the Clever Children there is a pressing need to redress this loss of history through academic scholarship that seeks to document and critically reflect on the rhizomatic developments of Electronica and its place within the history of twentieth century music.

The purpose of this research is therefore to determine whether claims regarding the influence of the experimental music tradition on the Clever Children within the context of Electronica can be substantiated. While there may be a tendency to Introducing The Clever Children 23

view such enterprise as unduly modernist the point is not the establishment of some historical or evolutionary precedence but an analysis of the historical narrative constructed in relation to the Clever Children. My assertion is not that the Clever Children represent the heirs of some axiomatic oeuvre but that there is an emerging and largely unchallenged narrative that seeks to establish and legitimise an historical ‘art music’ precedent for the work of the Clever Children in the form of a contrived experimental music tradition. Therefore my goal is to compare the narratives relating to the Clever Children’s adoption of experimental ideas to their practice in light of analysis of this narrative and their own work. Put another way, this project asks the question:

Can the historical narratives linking the Clever Children with an experimental music tradition be substantiated with reference to their artistic practice?

To answer this question it is necessary to place the Clever Children within an historical context with reference to both experimental music and Electronica. At issue here is not that no histories of Electronica exist but that they are inconclusive, not widely known and, with regard to the Clever Children, have not yet been written. The purpose then is not historical documentation as such but rather to provide the cultural and musical context within which an understanding of the relationship of the Clever Children and their purported musical antecedents.

Because the Clever Children cannot be said to represent an ‘historical tradition’, this research will focus not on the Clever Children as a group, but rather, on three specific examples where existing claims regarding the influence of the experimental music tradition can be examined and tested. It is not within the scope of this dissertation to determine whether these Clever Children represent an emerging group of producers, composers and DJs of electronic music that may have been influenced by the experimental music tradition. Instead, I will argue determinations with regard to the specific works under discussion and will compare these to identify if any broader concerns and similarities emerge for the purposes of future research. Consequently, the project will address the following sub-questions:

Introducing The Clever Children 24

What are the historical narratives and key musical and conceptual traits of the experimental music tradition and Electronica identified in existing literature as precursive to or having influence on the Clever Children?

What areas of congruence or confluence exist between the experimental music tradition, Electronica and specific works of the Clever Children in which experimental influence has been claimed?

In what way do such confluences and congruencies support or undermine the claims of influence made by or on behalf of the Clever Children in each instance and across the multiple cases?

Answering these questions will: i) identify a possible historical context for the Clever Children; ii) explore the areas of confluence between their works, the experimental music tradition and Electronica; iii) and provide a basis for determining whether the specific works under discussion can be said to demonstrate the influence of the experimental music tradition. This will address the primary research question by arriving at an informed position on the relationship of the Clever Children to the experimental music tradition with reference to both historical precedence and specific musical works.

Introducing The Clever Children 25

‘Between’ Method Research Design

‘Lost’ histories and Clever Children

In order to compare and contrast the musical and conceptual traits present in the work of the Clever Children to those of the experimental music tradition and Electronica, it will first be necessary to undertake a survey of the key historical, musical and philosophical developments within both fields. With respect to the experimental music tradition this means examining the historical narratives that have been proposed within existing literature linking the Clever Children to composers such as Cage, Reich and Stockhausen. With regard to Electronica this means addressing an ‘alternate’, and potentially equally credible, narrative of the development of electronic musical forms within a popular music context. Accordingly the historical survey which forms Part II of this dissertation will outline these narratives from which I will draw a list of musical and conceptual traits present in the experimental music tradition and Electronica that are claimed to be in some way ‘precursive’ or antecedent to the work of the Clever Children.

These ‘key traits’ will then be examined to determine what similarities exist between the experimental music tradition and Electronica and to discuss whether this is the result of congruence, confluence and influence. The purpose of this is twofold: firstly to provide a reference against which the work of the Clever Children may be compared and contrasted as a basis for testing the claims of influence made by and about them and; secondly to respond to the ‘loss of history’ (Holmes, 2002) surrounding Electronica by exploring the historical narratives from which the Clever Children have emerged. With an appropriate reference established it will then be possible to examine the work and artistic practice of the Clever Children themselves for areas of congruence or confluence with regard to the experimental music tradition and Electronica.

Next, this research project will examine three specific works, and their creators through a series of case studies in order to explore the validity of claims of influence by the experimental music tradition on the Clever Children. ‘Case study’ is concerned primarily with the case, whereas a ‘collective case study’ on the other hand, seeks to provide insight and understanding of a particular field

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through joint study of a number of cases “in their similarity and variety [leading to] better understanding, perhaps theorizing, about a still larger collection of cases” (Stake, 2000; p. 473). Within this research project then, Collective Case Study is used to identify and examine three specific works and artists in order to understand how and why the works were created, the artists’ influences in the creation of the work as well as similarities and differences to works within the experimental music tradition.

This will be achieved through the application of an analytical framework based on “between method triangulation” (Denzin, 1989; p. 244). Between-method triangulation technique uses a pre-defined number of different methodological approaches so that any flaws of one approach are compensated by the strengths of another. By combining methods the researcher can achieve the best of each approach while overcoming their individual limitations (Ibid). The purpose of triangulation is to examine the object under investigation from a variety of perspectives and methodological devices in order to minimise the possibility of inaccurate interpretation and representation (Stake, 2000). Triangulation does not offer a watertight argument for the validity of observations made by the researcher, as no two approaches will ever be completely congruent. However, research literature continues to support triangulation as “a means of refining broadening and strengthening conceptual linkages [and allowing researchers to] offer perspectives other than their own” (Berg, 2001; p. 5). Denzin (1989) argues that, when used with sufficient rigour, triangulation will “broaden, thicken, and deepen the interpretive base of any study” (p. 247). Bracket (2000) suggests that the application of triangulation to the study of music would involve “the triangulation of ideas expressed by the author within the musical text (lyrics, music, samples) and externally to the musical text (interviews, writings etc.)” (p. 16). Similarly, Stake (1995) indicates that methodological triangulation within case studies involves observation, interview and document review. This research will utilise just such an analytical framework, comprising: interview, document review and musical analysis to explore the artist and work under discussion. This will then enable me to identify and examine areas of congruence, confluence and difference with the key musical and conceptual traits identified with the experimental music tradition and Electronica.

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Even within this framework however, discerning influence is a subjective proposition – music is made by artists who often approach questions such as practice and influence not as things to be dissected and categorised, but as the result of individual, indefinable, even anarchic processes within the creative mind. Rather than arrive at any ‘definitive truth’, the Collective Case Study presented herein is designed to identify whether artists’ claims of influence are consistent with the work itself, and whether there are demonstrable relationships with the experimental music tradition. Where some level of congruence with the experimental music tradition is present, this research will attempt to determine whether this is more likely due to influence, confluence or coincidence through reference to the subjects’ stated intentions and influences expressed through writings, interviews and their creative output.

Whilst comparative analysis is not the driving motivation of case study research in general, for the purposes of this Collective Case Study it is important to build a level of transferability into the research design. This is to ensure that, while acknowledging the necessarily unique approach to each Case Study, meaningful discussion can take place within the broader context of this dissertation. In practice, this will mean identifying key areas of investigation that can be applied to the examination of each artist and work without being case-specific. In order to facilitate this, each of the three individual Case Studies will comprise: i. a background of each artist focussing on broader points of contact or influence with the experimental music tradition; ii. a background to the work under discussion, including claims relating the work to the experimental music tradition; iii. a musical analysis of each work; and iv. conclusions comparing and contrasting each work and artist and their stated influences to the experimental music tradition and Electronica.

The Case Studies can thus be collectively assessed, compared and contrasted in order to draw conclusions about the relationship of the Clever Children to the experimental music tradition. This approach brings with it a potential danger that the contrast and comparison of the cases may become more important than the understanding of the cases themselves. Consequently each individual Case Study will be concerned primarily with accurate description and disciplined

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interpretation. While a similarly structured approach is taken in each Case Study the tools applied in each instance are uniquely constructed and respond to the specifics of each Case. Only once this is completed will any comparative analyses be made, from which it should be possible to develop and refine a broad understanding of the relationship of the composers under study to the experimental music tradition at large.

Case selection

The process of case selection raised a number of challenges. The first of these was whether case selection should be made on the basis of the artist or their work. Because this research explores claims of influence, it was important that there be some association between the artists and the experimental music tradition. However, as specific musical works were to be the focal point of each Case Study, it was also important that such claims of influence could be related specifically to a particular work within the given artist’s output. More generally, case selection raised questions as to whether the artists and their works should be chosen on such matters as: popularity; CD sales; the representative nature of their work; perceived ‘authenticity’; their relationship to particular genres of music; or any number of other value judgements that distinguish one artist from another. While a selection of cases based purely on production and consumption runs the risk of acquiring a populist bias, selections based on the artistic merit of selected works are flawed due to the problematic nature of ‘authenticity’ (Kivy, 1995). There is a need therefore to recognise that some form of value judgement is inherent in the case selection process. Simon Frith (1998) states that “to deny the significance of value judgements in popular culture . . is, if nothing else, hypocritical . . I’m sure in my own cultural practice that Jane Eyre is a better romance than a Mills and Boon or Harlequin title” (p. 573). Even where these considerations can be appropriately addressed, the value of a ‘sampling’ approach is questionable, as Stake notes:

Case Study research is not sampling research. We do not study a case primarily to understand other cases. Our first obligation is to understand this one case. . . . The first criterion should be to maximise what we can learn. Given our purposes, which cases are likely to lead us to understandings, to assertations, perhaps even to modifying generalisations. (1995; p. 4)

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Stake (2000) also argues that cases selected must be “of some typicality, but leaning toward those cases from which we feel we can learn the most” (p. 446). While acknowledging that this may mean that case selection is made depending on how accessible the subject matter is and how much time can be spent observing the subject, it is better to “learn a lot from an atypical case than a little from a seemingly typical case . . . the primary criterion is the opportunity to learn” (pp. 446–447). On the basis of these considerations, case selection for this investigation was informed primarily by five key criteria. In order of importance these were:

• The works, and artists, selected for study have been identified, either by the artist themselves or a third party, as expressing some level of influence by or association with the experimental music tradition.

• The works are available in a format suitable for study, which could be experienced on more than one occasion across multiple locales and distributed widely enough to be available to readers of this study.

• The artists studied are available and willing to take part in interviews.

• There was an existing body of information about the artists and works, including liner notes, interviews, reviews, essays and journal articles.

• The works studied are demonstrative of different approaches to composition, realisation and / or reception of musical works.

Subsequently, selection of the Cases examined in this research was dictated by the availability of works in an accessible format by Clever Children who had accrued a level of recognition as being in some way related to the experimental music tradition, who possessed a significant catalogue of works as composers and/or performers – though not necessarily accompanied by commercial success – and who are mentioned as being of major importance by current practitioners in the field, journalists or other sources. These criteria were designed to ensure that the works and artists selected could be studied in appropriate depth and were known widely enough to be considered broadly representative of the Clever Children.

On the basis of these criteria a pool of artists were selected for potential study including Aphex Twin, DJ Spooky, Scanner, Squarepusher, Autechre, Oval and

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Japanese ‘noise’ artist Merzbow. In addition, the 1999 Reich Remixed album was considered as a source of potential Case Studies due to its clear association with the work of Steve Reich. Aphex Twin, DJ Spooky, Scanner, Oval and the Reich Remixed album proved the most prominent in existing literature including magazine articles, interviews and manifestos. Scanner and DJ Spooky presented themselves as particularly strong foci for Case Studies as they have both written and spoken extensively about the ideas and influences that are present in their work. Aphex Twin and Oval were dismissed as potential candidates because contacting them to secure an interview proved impossible. This left the output of Scanner and DJ Spooky as well as the Reich Remixed album as the most promising source of works to be examined by the Case Studies. Scanner’s Surface Noise and DJ Spooky’s Errata Erratum were chosen, as the artists themselves have claimed the pieces exhibit a level of influence by the experimental music tradition. Howie B’s remix of Eight Lines was selected from the Reich Remixed album, given that Reich had singled out his remix for specific praise (Weidenbaum, 1999). More practically, Howie B refers to this remix in a number of interviews given around the time of the album’s release. As will be discussed later, all artists confirmed their availability to participate in this project.

Musical analysis, transcription and ‘the score’

The central purpose of musical analysis within each Case Study is to examine works of the Clever Children for areas of congruence and possible relationship with the experimental music tradition. To do this it will be essential to engage not just with the structure and syntax of a piece but with the conceptual, compositional and technological processes brought to bear by the composer. As Martin (2002) notes, the field of music under discussion is concerned primarily not with musical products, but with ideas and how these are realised through the creation, realisation and reception of musical works (p. xiii). In examining the work of the Clever Children, the ideas, concepts, processes and philosophies brought to bear on a piece by a composer are of at least equal significance to melody, harmony and rhythm in examining the influence of the experimental music tradition.

The act of composition – that is, the conceptual and technological processes used by a composer in creating a piece – forms a significant part of this. Moore (1993)

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suggests a useful direction in this regard when he breaks down the question “what does the text consist of” into “how is it made?” and “why?” (p.6). This forms a useful basis for the analysis of works of Electronica. While certain musical traits pointing to an experimental influence may be able to be identified by ‘traditional’ musical analysis, it will also be important to get inside the creative process to place oneself in the position of the composer. Holmes (2002) states that “it makes . . . sense to me to discuss the music from the standpoint of composition: the aesthetic and technological approaches used by a composer to work with the sound material” (p. 5). Similarly, Nicholas Cook (1987) notes that “when you analyse a piece of music you are in effect recreating it for yourself” (p. 1) and that this is true equally of both notes on a page or the electrical impulses and digital signals that are part of the modern recording process.

Music technology impacts on the ways we think about, create, disseminate and listen to music, and consequently it becomes important that any discussion and analysis of works of Electronica must be referenced to the techniques by which they were created. Since the electronic experimentations of Stockhausen, Eimert and Varèse in the 1950s, music technology has ceased to be a transparent device for the recording of existing music and instead acts as a vehicle for the creation of new music. Furthermore, this fundamental shift in the use of music technology has affected the way we listen to and engage with music. Writing on this subject, Thom Holmes (2002) notes that,

Composers now think differently about the music they make. Their aural vocabulary has no bounds, and the structures they impose, or choose to avoid, are all made possible by technology. The audience now listens differently to music because recording has changed the way music is experienced. (p. 1)

To appropriately engage with the works under investigation, a set of tools is required that can help examine the ways in which a work is communicating. Cateforis (1993) suggests that “as analysts in popular music studies broaden their areas of interest and address new musical genres and styles, so their analytical methodology must change as well” (p. 53). This is particular true of Electronica and the work of Clever Children, which demonstrate significant variety in the composition, realisation and reception of musical works.

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By comparison traditionally conceived analytical methods tend to emphasise musical parameters, which can be easily notated, due in part to the (mis)representation of the score, and by extension transcription, as an accurate and complete graphic representation of a musical event. This has led to a biasing of musical analysis towards easily transcribable parameters such as diatonic / chromatic melody and harmony, rhythm expressed in mathematically simple durational relationships, through composed structures, texture and orchestration (Tagg, 1987). Though, as Winkler (1997) warns, “notation is the unreal approximation of real music” (p. 193).

In effect, European notation has become a filter through which all music is passed. When viewed through this filter, other forms of music, such as 20th century popular music, are disadvantaged because they appear deficient by comparison to Western Art Music (Bracket, 2001). This has led to a syntactic and methodological bias that privileges works within the ‘classical’ repertoire due to “selective, and often unconsciously formulated, conceptions of what music is” (Middleton, 1990; p. 104). Such privileging, interspersed with the modernist precept of historical progress towards an ideal, has resulted in a self-reifying canon. Consequently any allusions to an objective and comprehensive ‘scientific’ approach to the study of music are completely undermined by a focus on repertoire that reinforces methodological approaches and assumptions that privilege and further legitimise this repertoire as a focal point for musicological enquiry. While it is possible to develop forms of notation and transcription more capable of dealing with the parameters and idiosyncrasies of ‘non-classical’ repertoire the fact remains that notation is not a neutral device. Instead notation is an “intrinsic part of the message and impacts on the ways in which musicians [and analysts and audiences] conceive and perceive music” (Williams, 2001, p. 36).

In contrast, the role of the ‘score’ in popular music forms generally takes on a descriptive rather than prescriptive role, often in the form of musical transcription. In this instance, transcription can include the use of traditional notation, visual notation and the use of spectrum analysis among other techniques in order to represent the recorded sounds / communicate sonic elements of a recording or live performance to the reader. Moore (1993) identifies the fundamental difference between the function of musical texts in relation to the analyses of popular and art music forms, asserting: ‘Between’ Method Research Design 33

although the analysis of art music is, normally, the analysis of the score, an analysis of rock [and most other forms of popular music, including Electronica] cannot follow the same procedure. It must refer to the primary text, which is, in this case, what is heard. (p. 33)

Electronica rarely circulates in written form and even where this is the case, published sheet music for example, the ‘score’ is often an incomplete or simplified transcription. Conception of the ‘score’ as a way to construct, record and represent music is almost completely foreign. Instead works of Electronica are constructed using, often digital, music technologies and are realised and disseminated through ‘live’ performances and recorded media such as CDs, tapes, vinyl records and, in more recent years, digital audio formats such as MP3. Thus musical analysis of Electronica needs to be concerned with shifting the emphasis away from notatable parameters and ‘the score’ and toward an examination of ‘non-notatable’ parameters, ‘live’ performances and audio recordings – what Moore (1993) would term the primary text(s). Holme’s argues:

You will rarely find an electronic work that can be accurately transcribed and reproduced from sheet music. It does not exist as “potential music” except in the form of notes, instructions, and ideas made by the composer. Conventional musical notation is not practical for electronic music. You cannot study it as you would a piece of scored music . . Even those works that are transcriptions of conventionally composed chromatic music cannot be fully described on paper, because the elements of electronic instrumentation, sound processing, and performance defy standardization. (Holmes, 2002; p.12)

This is not to suggest that musical analysis, as traditionally conceived, is of no use in understanding Electronica, but that there is a need to acknowledge the limitations of such an enquiry when trying to understand musics that don’t conform to the norms of ‘classical’ repertoire. There are some instances where an analysis of melody and harmony will produce rewarding results and provide insights, just as there are instances where such analysis would be completely inappropriate. As Covach (1997) rightly points out we must be wary of “the assumption that because such techniques were developed to study art music they could never produce anything but a distorted reading of popular music [or Electronica]” (p. 136).

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Nevertheless, there is a need to look beyond the tools of traditional musical analysis in order to engage with the works of the Clever Children under discussion. Music and sound - the primary text - is still of significant importance however a ‘musicological’ approach to Electronica music must go hand in hand with an examination of socio-cultural elements. While there is a need to get the details of the music right this does not necessitate “an exercise in ‘wrongheaded formalism” (Fast, 2001; p. 10). DeNora (2000) argues that music analysis “is insufficient as a means of understanding musical affect”, arguing instead that what is needed are “new ways of attending to music . . . that are overtly interdisciplinary, that conjoin the hitherto separate tasks of music scholars and social scientists" (DeNora, 2000, p. 23).

While the importance of ‘socialised’ material cannot be downplayed, it is not without its own set of problems. The tangled interrelationship between music, its creators, the context in which it is produced, and the audience is not always easy to plot or to understand. Middleton (1997) warns that there is a tendency for such analysis to “retreat into sociology” wherein the music is “interpreted solely in terms of the social categories into which the industry or the fans can be fitted - or an aggressive ‘insiderism’, which stresses that interpretation is ‘intuitive’, ‘anti- academic’ and intrinsic to the music culture itself” (p. 117). Such criticisms notwithstanding, both analytical rigour and depth of understanding benefit from being informed by “a discursive framework that is sensitive to many kinds of social experience even as it focuses on specifically musical practices” (Walser, 1993; p. 41).

Consequently it is important that the methodologies used for the purposes of analysis in this research be flexible and responsive to the individual needs and contexts of each case. Everett (1999) suggests that the most appropriate analytical approach depends “on the piece-specific characteristics of the works themselves” (Everett, 1999; p. ix). Throughout the Case Studies, transcription will be used where appropriate, as will audio examples (these can be found on the accompanying CD at Appendix E), diagrams and descriptions. Such approaches will be informed by and correlated against interview data and existing literature relating to the conception, content and context of each work by the composer. As noted above, there are instances where an analysis of melody and harmony will produce rewarding results and provide insights, just as there are instances where ‘Between’ Method Research Design 35

such analysis would be of limited use. It is important to understand that the application of such tools does not form the analysis itself and is “in no way intended to replace the real primary sources” (Fast, 2001; p. 10). The point is not to transcribe or otherwise document an existing musical text, but rather, to make observations that can be communicate with reference to the text itself. As Cook contends:

If musical analysis is a process whereby the analyst’s experience of the music is modified, then the series of graphs or tables by means of which it is communicated should not really be thought of as ‘the analysis’. . they are not like tables of scientific data; they do not have any intrinsic meaning or validity. They only acquire meaning and validity by virtue of the musical experience they engender. (1987; p. 229)

Ultimately, musical analysis is only useful inasmuch as it furnishes a greater understanding of the work under examination. Scruton (1997) argues that the role of analysis is to bring to the listener’s attention those points that allow them to make sense of the work under discussion and that, “the assumption is that the analyst will discriminate between salient and peripheral features; between things which go without saying, and things that might well be missed; and between important and unimportant episodes” (p. 396). Scruton further asserts that it is understanding, on the part of the listener, which is important rather than the method used to achieve this, that it is less important that “one theory rather than another should have been used for the job. What matters is the experience with which the analysis concludes” (p. 427). Reinforcing this point, Winkler (1997) asserts strongly that such inherently subjective readings of musical texts “should be recognized not as a fundamental weakness, but as a fundamental strength” (Winkler, 1997; p. 200). Cateforis (1993), whose discussion of the analysis of Post-Punk music comes closest to articulating the problems inherent in this research concurs, suggesting that the analysts “goal must then be one of selective communication” (p. 54). Throughout this research project musical analysis will therefore be used to highlight particular elements of a work that support or challenge the claims made about the work in relation to influence by the experimental music tradition. Such analysis will be highly selective and will seek to draw the reader’s attention to the particular traits deemed relevant to the case at hand. For example, if it is claimed a particular musical work has been in some way influenced by minimalism, the accompanying musical analysis would

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reasonably look for techniques and outcomes similar to those found in a minimalist composition. Rather than opt for ‘accurate’ or ‘complete’ transcription, the musical analysis contained in the Case Studies makes use of a variety of tools in order to highlight and represent elements of a recording or performance that are relevant to the case for or against influence as identified by the key traits to be argued later in this dissertation (see p. 118).

Interviews

The artists under examination in this research were not easy to access, due in part to their celebrity, disparate locations and touring commitments across the world. This problem was compounded by the extraordinary procedures some artists have employed to avoid or limit direct access to themselves. Several unsuccessful attempts were made to contact DJ Spooky through his management and various collaborators before a teaching colleague at the European Graduate School, where Spooky co-lectures a subject, agreed to pass on my request for an interview. Though attempts were made, it proved impossible to conduct face-to-face interviews with all the subjects of this research due to conflicting touring schedules and distance. Telephone interviews were a second option, but this was only possible with one of the participants, Howie B, whose manager suggested a phone interview would be preferable as the artist is “not a great one for the written word [and likely to give a] much more informed response” in conversation (Burmiston, personal communication, 7 April 2005).

The difficulties associated with setting up synchronous interviews lead to the use of email to contact and interview the remaining artists. Email was chosen as the best option for these interviews as it was the most convenient method of communication, not being dependant on time zones or location of either the interviewer or interviewee. Mann and Stewart (2000) note a number of other advantages of Email communication that proved useful in this context, namely that Email is easily documented; archived; referenced and; as email is a verbatim of the whole interview the accountability of the data is easily demonstrated (pp. 21–22). Email, though less immediate, is perceived as a more personal and thoughtful form of computer mediated communication. Walther (1992) notes that users of computer mediated communication “desire to transact personal, rewarding, complex relationships and . . they will communicate to do so” (p. 68).

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While email provided the solution to the practical problems of access, distance and scheduling, there were also a number of problems that need to be considered. Mann and Stewart (2000) offer that “a key debate in email interviewing is whether to send questions or ‘cues’ for thematic areas all at once, or whether to stagger them” (pp. 148–149). The organisation of questions is a significant problem as, on the one hand, interviewees may be unwilling to respond to a series of in-depth emails and, on the other, interviewees may respond only to questions which they feel strongly about and skip others. The best way to address this problem is through good rapport with interviewees and well-designed questions. For this research non-standardised, semi-structured interviews were used, with questions addressing the artists work, ideologies, influences and compositional techniques both broadly and with reference to the specific work under discussion in each Case Study. As the interviews were non-standardised, each of the interviews was tailored to address specific elements of the subjects musical and conceptual concerns with reference to claims of experimental influence, the work under discussion and existing documentation such as interviews, web postings and liner notes (see Appendixes A, B & C).

A further problem with email interview is that of ‘authenticity’. Disregarding for the moment questions of ‘truth’ and ‘fiction’, there is a need to be able to determine whether information gained through interviews can be seen as an accurate representation of the author’s thoughts. Wherever a level of misdirection or deception does take place it is important to try and understand why this happens. Mann and Stewart (Ibid) suggest that the researcher needs to take a pragmatic approach, assessing the ‘candour’ of participants and the value of the data by how well they address the questions raised.

If the key requirements of a study is that participants have ‘informed’ knowledge of a specific area then individual identity may not be so crucial. . . . a defence of data would depend . . . on displaying a participant’s knowledge of the substantive issues of the research (which the CMC-generated text could demonstrate). (p. 212)

As with face-to-face research, computer mediated communication requires the establishment of trust between interviewer and interviewee and that this is a two- way process. A pragmatic approach is difficult to argue for without resorting to a defence relying on the intuition of the researcher, however “such criticism is most likely to come . . from those with little personal experience of [computer mediated

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communication].” As the use of computer mediated communication becomes more common, trust in the medium will grow and “it is likely that the perceived potential for duplicity in online communication will diminish until it is no greater than for [face to face] communication” (Ibid; p. 215).

While seeking clarification is a key feature of qualitative research in general, it becomes increasingly important in email interviews where “ambiguity can arise from faulty sentence structure . . poor choice of words . . and/or misunderstanding of connotation” (Ibid; p. 150). Fortunately, email software easily allows the interviewer to isolate problematic statements and cut and past them into a return mail for clarification. Problematically, none of the participants in this research were available to answer more than a single set of questions. Scanner, who initially declined a request to be a part of this research due to a hectic international touring schedule, responded to interview questions while en route to Brussels via Eurostar train (Rimbaud, personal communication, 28 November 2004). Similarly, DJ Spooky responded amidst a busy international touring schedule and the phone interview with Howie B was conducted whilst the artist was, quite literally, passing through British customs on the way to a performance in Europe. While the telephone interview with Howie B allowed some follow-up questions to be asked, the email interviews with Scanner and Spooky afforded no such opportunity. Because of this, some of the questions emailed to Scanner and Spooky included a number of two-part questions that acted as quasi-probes, encouraging the participants to expand on their answers in the same way as a pre- prepared follow-up question in a face-to-face interview. While such two-part questions may be perceived as off-putting during face-to-face interviews, the asynchronous and more personal and reflective nature of email communication worked in the favour of just such an approach and both interviews elicited in- depth, thoughtful responses.

Notes on participants and notational schema

The three participating artists are high profile international musicians each with an impressive catalogue of commercial releases and critical acclaim:

Howard Bernstein, aka Howie B, is a producer and DJ of electronic who has a notable solo career and has collaborated with artists including U2, Brian Eno,

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Sly and Robbie and Massive Attack. His remix of Steve Reich’s Eight Lines is explored in Case Study One (p. 125).

Robin Rimbaud, aka Scanner, is an international sound artist whose infamous early works Scanner (1992) and Scanner 2 (1993) made use of intercepted telephone conversations and cemented Rimbaud as an important voice in the Electronic Listening Music genre. Rimbaud’s 1998 work Surface Noise forms the focus of Case Study Two (p. 149).

Paul Miller, aka DJ Spooky, has released several critically acclaimed albums and is one of the key figures within the ‘Illbient’ genre. Miller has collaborated with a range of artists including Dub legend Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry and the Kronos Quartet. Miller’s online installation work Errata Erratum is examined in Case Study Three (p. 171).

Due to the need to associate the research participants with their musical work, interviews and other creative output this research has avoided the use of anonymous cases and interviews. This research was granted ethical clearance (see informed consent proforma at Appendix D). Responses to interviews are referenced using an abbreviation of the artists name and the answer number as laid out in Appendices A, B and C. Each set of respondent's initials is followed by up to three characters indicating the questionnaire response. For example:

HBa2: Indicates participant Howard Bernstein’s response to question two as per the questionnaire found in Appendix A.

RRa8: Indicates participant Robin Rimbaud’s response to question eight as per the questionnaire found in Appendix B.

PMa10: Indicates participant Paul Miller’s response to question ten as per the questionnaire found in Appendix C.

Document review and the use of secondary sources

In order to inform the interviews and provide a ‘thicker description’ (Geertz, 1975) of the works and artists under discussion, this research relies on the use of ‘secondary’ sources in order to furnish a fuller understanding of both the musical text and it’s contexts. These include liner notes, interviews, biographies and writings, which are related to a particular piece or more broadly to a composer’s

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conceptual and philosophical preoccupations. While eminently useful, such sources bring with them issues related to the authority and reliability of text and author. For example, along with a collection of his own writings DJ Spooky has posted a number of interviews on his website, many of which lack basic bibliographic information such as the original source, date of publication (where this actually exists) and in some instances the name of the author. While in this instance there is a direct link to the artist in question it underscores the point that there is a need to critically evaluate both the content and authorship of such secondary sources and acknowledge their often unclear origins.

Consequently, the process of document review (or literature survey) is used to examine these secondary texts for information relevant to the research at hand. Samuel Bracket (2000) notes “while musical texts may retain a ‘relative autonomy’ . . they gain their meaning by circulating with other texts from other media which may include mass media publications, videos, film, industry publications, and ‘historical’ documents” (p. 18). Such information provides a framework for the examination of meaning derived from an understanding of a composer’s ideas, aesthetics, processes and philosophies brought to bear on a piece of music. This type of approach to music scholarship is common within popular musicology (Shuker, 2001; Fast, 2001; Bracket, 2000; Walser, 1993; Moore, 1993), ethnomusicology (Merriam, 1964) and, more recently, the field of new musicology (Cook & Everest, 1999; Williams, 2001). Each of these sub- disciplines attempts to “draw context into its discourse, as well as engaging directly with issues of performance and perception” (Samson, 1999, p. 53). Understanding the context surrounding a piece of music involves identifying compositional techniques and processes, the philosophies and conceptual constructs behind a composers work, genre guidelines and the functions the music is used for. In practice this is similar to the musical ethnography described by Anthony Seeger (1992) who outlines “a descriptive approach to music going beyond the writing down of sounds to the writing down of how sounds are conceived, made, appreciated and influence other individuals, groups and social and musical processes” (p. 89).

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Summary

The application of the preceding methodology leads to a four-part structure for this dissertation represented in the following diagram and subsequent exposition:

Figure 1: Concept map of research project structure

Part I includes the introduction, literature review of scholarly and non-scholarly works written in this field and the methodological argumentation discussed above. This provides a context and justification for the research project and outlines the research design.

Part II traces the historical development of the experimental and electronic music traditions and identifies key musical and conceptual traits present in each tradition. These traits then provide a reference point for the analysis of the works of the Clever Children. This section also responds to the first sub-question posed by this research by providing an historical context for the Clever Children. ‘Between’ Method Research Design 42

Part III of the research project presents a Collective Case Study, which explores the works of Howie B, Scanner and DJ Spooky. Each Case Study examines the respective artist’s relationship to the experimental music tradition through the examination of the conceptual and stylistic traits present in their work. In line with the second research sub-question, Part III seeks to discern whether these specific works of the Clever Children can be said to demonstrate the influence of the experimental music tradition.

Part IV discusses the findings of each case to discern whether, when taken as a whole, the Collective Case Study supports or undermines the claims of influence made regarding the influence of the experimental music tradition. The dissertation concludes with an informed position about the relationship of the Clever Children to the experimental music tradition and suggests areas for future research.

‘Between’ Method Research Design 43

PART II: AN HISTORICAL CONTEXT

Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition

Introduction

The purpose of this section is to explore the historical narratives that have emerged with regard to the influence of an experimental music tradition on the work of the Clever Children in the writings of Cascone (2000), Cox and Warner (2004), Emmerson (2000, 2007), Holmes (2002), Martin (2002), Neill (2002), Prendergast (1995), Toop (1995), Witts and Young (1996) and others. These emergent narratives position a range of experimental and avant-garde music of the twentieth century in a continuum leading to Electronica and the Clever Children. When taken in concert these writings concur broadly with Emmerson’s assertion of an emerging historical narrative or genealogy of all experimental electronic music that includes “a mix of (typically) Varèse, Stockhausen, Xenakis, Cage, Pierre Schaeffer, Pierre Henry, Steve Reich and other ‘avant-garde pioneers’” (2007, p. 63). As noted in the Introduction, some commentators position these narratives or genealogies within the context of electro-acoustic music whereas others draw parallels to the US and UK experimental ‘tradition’ denominated by Nyman (1999) (among others). In each instance however there can be said to be an appeal to ‘experimentalism’ in some form, at the very least inferred by the recurring historical significance ascribed to composers such as John Cage. Take for example Veale’s assertion that

the experiments of post–World War II composers such as John Cage, Karlheinz Stockhausen, Steve Reich, and LaMonte Young eventually influenced a generation of experimentally inclined popular groups worldwide, who fused popular rhythms with tape based and electronically generated elements, as well as with formal designs inspired by minimalism and indeterminacy (2007; pp. 2–3)

Abstracted, with consideration to variations in construction between authors, this tradition can be said to draw on the musical application of noise and electronic sounds, often through the application of new music technologies; the use of process based compositional strategies including aleatory / indeterminacy and; the

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adoption of stasis and repetition with regard to musical form and content7. Consequently, the experimental music tradition discussed below can be understood as a composite of the various narratives describing the supposed relationship of composers such as Cage, Stockhausen and others to the Clever Children.

Care must be taken not to conflate these narratives, detailing the Clever Children’s appropriation of elements of the experimental music tradition, with modernist notions of linear progression. Cox and Warner (2004), whose Audio Culture is one of the central scholarly works advancing this narrative, suggest that rather than a linear unfolding of history the Clever Children have achieved “a new kind of sonic literacy, history, and memory … [that] flattens the distinction between ‘high art’ and ‘mass culture,’ and treats music history as a repository from which to draw random-access sonic alliances and affinities” (p. xiv). While Cox and Warner draw obvious parallels with the cut-and-paste aesthetic of much late-twentieth ‘post-modern’ culture and art I would suggest that a more interesting observation is the way in which such selective adoption of musical precedents can be used to ‘legitimise’ the work of the Clever Children.

Though I will return to this later, it is interesting to note that one of the functions of the historical narratives surrounding the Clever Children is to in some way suggest their work is of equal value to, and perhaps even a progression of, the work of composers such as Cage or Stockhausen. Select practitioners of Electronica are in effect being inducted into a high art pantheon reifying the very distinctions between ‘serious’ and ‘vernacular’ artistic endeavour that their work is claimed to undermine. Consequently the historical narratives surrounding the work of the Clever Children have constructed an experimental music tradition that provides a useful starting point to test the claims of influence made by and on behalf of the Clever Children. This section will survey this ‘tradition’ for what might be deemed 'precursive' or antecedent musical, philosophical and cultural memes or ideas that have been identified as relating to the Clever Children. This will assist in developing an historical and musical reference point, the key traits, that will enable comparison between the experimental music tradition and

7 See again Cascone (2000), Cox and Warner (2004), Emmerson (2000, 2007), Holmes (2002), Martin (2002), Neill (2002), Prendergast (1995), Toop (1995), Veal (2007), Witts and Young (1996). Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 46

Electronica in order to identify possible congruence, confluence and influence with respect the Clever Children.

Noise

The musical application of ‘noise’ in the twentieth century delineates a central concern of the experimental music tradition as identified in relation to the Clever Children (Russo and Warner, 1998). Where Morgan contends that “the single most important and encompassing feature of twentieth–century music has unquestionably been its move beyond functional tonality” (1991; p. 8) authors addressing the Clever Children tend to focus beyond the “emancipation of dissonance” (Schoenberg, cited in Yates, 1967; p. 30) toward the liberation of sound itself.

Beginning with the Italian futurists the introduction of non-musical, mechanical and Electronically generated sound sources proffered a dramatic challenge to the traditional constituents and organisation of music. Throughout the nineteenth century chromaticism and dissonance came to play an increasingly prominent role in Western Art music. However there was still a tendency for works to be composed and understood within the context of functional tonality even where this was not necessarily obvious to the listener. The adoption of non-musical sound was driven by a number of developments in the early part of the twentieth century including the adoption of rhythmic composition as an alternative to tonality, the development of new mechanical and electronic instruments and the invention of recordable media. Each of these elements is underpinned by a desire to seek out new sonic possibilities for music, often through the use of new technology.

Cascone (2000) contends that the use of noise and ‘unintentional’ sound in the work of the Futurist composers, Cage and Stockhausen (among others) “best describes [the] lineage” (p. 395) leading to artists such as Aphex Twin, Oval and others identified in this research as Clever Children. Similarly, Cox and Warner suggest “from Russolo through DJ Culture, experimental music practices have inhabited that borderland where noise and silence become music and vice versa” (Cox and Warner, 2004; p. 6).

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Futurism

The first, and perhaps most striking, instance of noise as a musical device in the twentieth century is found in the work of the Italian Futurists. Futurism expressed a revolutionary zeal for the new, advocating a kind of year zero in which all preceding art and culture would be, violently, deposed to make way for new conceptions of art based on the technological, particularly mechanical, advancements of the new century. In his polemic Futurist Manifesto, figurehead Fillipo Tomas Marinetti clamours:

Do you want to waste the best part of your strength in a useless admiration of the past, from which you will emerge exhausted, diminished, trampled on? . . Heap up the fire to the shelves of the libraries! Divert the canals to flood the cellars of the museums! Let the glorious canvases swim ashore! Take the picks and hammers! Undermine the foundation of venerable towns! (1909; online)

The musical application of Futurist ideals by Italian painter Luigi Russolo delineates a similar aesthetic. Russolo advocated a dramatic rejection of western music tradition in favour of the sonic possibilities inherent in non-musical sound / noise. Rossolo entreats, “we must break out of this limited circle of sounds and conquer the infinite variety of noise-sounds” (1913; p. 11). Interestingly, though advocating a break with tradition, Russolo positions his music of noises as an evolutionary development in human hearing “enrich[ing] mankind with a new and unsuspected pleasure of the senses” (Ibid; p. 13). Russolo argues further that the groundwork for the adoption of noise in a musical context is demonstrable by trends towards chromaticism, dissonance and atonality:

In order to excite and stir our sensibility, music has been developing toward the most complicated polyphony and toward the greatest variety of instrumental timbres and colors. It has searched out he most complex successions of dissonant chords, which have prepared in a vague way for the creation of MUSICAL NOISE. (Ibid; p. 11)

To fulfil his vision Russolo invented a series of mechanical noise makers or intonarumori that would comprise the futurist orchestra. The intonarumori produced noise by the mechanical vibration of a stretched diagram placed inside a box and amplified through a horn attached to the front (Holmes, 2002). Radical in conception and execution the music of the Italian Futurists did not find favour with audiences of the time and the immediate influence of the movement was

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limited, though links are suggested with Dadaist sound art and specifically the sound-poetry of Kurt Schwitters (Concannon, 1990). Despite this, Futurism may be understood as prefiguring the experimental music tradition discussed here in three important ways. Firstly, the rejection of musical convention; secondly, the use of noise and non-musical sounds in a musical context; and finally, the Futurists’ use of mechanical instruments reflecting “the first clear manifestation of a major and enduring concern: the relationship between new music and modern technology” (Morgan, 1991; p. 117).

Edgard Varèse

In the wake of the Futurists, the next significant development towards the musical application of noise within the experimental music tradition identified in this research can be seen in the works of Edgard Varèse. While a precedence of sorts is also present in the 1917 theatrical work Parade, for which Erik Satie composed a collage-like juxtaposition of music and Parisian street noises (Chadabe, 1997), Varèse was the first post-Futurist composer to engage with noise in a structured way. In line with the move towards atonality at the beginning of the twentieth century, Varèse’s work shifts further from the use of pitch as a central compositional determinate. Where Schoenberg desired the emancipation of dissonance however, Varèse positioned himself as championing the liberation of sound, “that music should break away from notes to noise” (Yates, 1967; p. 276). In the absence of pitch as an organising principle, Varèse turned his attention to percussion music as the most promising medium through which to introduce and explore non-musical sounds. In works such as Amériques (1921), Intégrales (1923) and Ionisation (1930) there can be seen a focus rhythm, dynamics and texture though, interestingly, “the traditional idea of developmental process and variation plays virtually no role in his music, which is composed of planes and volumes” (Salzman, 1988, p. 140). Expressing ideas that would later be echoed by John Cage, Varèse conceptualised sonic material in much the same way a sculptor might consider his medium, as ‘sound objects’ that could be malleably plied to suit the composer’s ends. Initially frustrated in his attempts to realise new electronic music, Varèse returned to the medium in the 1950s with Déserts (1954) and, perhaps his best known work, Poème Électronique (1958) both of which took advantage of the creative possibilities offered by magnetic tape (discussed in more detail below).

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Varèse believed the electronic medium “freed music from the tempered system, which has prevented music from keeping pace with the other arts and with science” (1962; p. 20). Predicting the sonic possibilities that would later be realised through sampling and synthesis technology, Varèse “envisaged sophisticated electronic machines that would make available such unprecedented sound possibilities as a continuous range of pitches, including all possible subdivisions of the tempered scale, which could also be precisely controlled by the composer” (Morgan, 1991; p. 307). Unlike the Futurists, Varese saw his work as an integral extension of the Western Art music tradition. Rather than the destruction of everything that had gone before Varèse advocated the adoption of non-musical and electronic sounds as a way to extend or build upon the advances of the past. Varèse argued that “it is because new instruments have been constantly added to the old ones that Western music has such a rich and varied patrimony” (1959; p. 19). Though his work exhibits traits experimental in nature, Varèse did not consider his music as such, stating, “my experimenting is done before I make the music” (cited in Yates, 1967; p. 279).

Varèse’s key innovations were the assimilation of musical and non-musical sound under the banner of ‘organised sound’; an emphasis on percussion writing as a way to assimilate non-musical sound into musical contexts and; the use of tape and electronic sound sources. These innovations have “influenced all subsequent sound–music” (Yates, 1967; p. 279) and are “fundamental to much of the music of recent decades” (Salzman, 1988; p. 142).

John Cage

The shift towards percussion writing as a medium through which to engage noise in a musical context became a central tenet of John Cage’s early works. Similarly to Varèse, Cage viewed percussion music as “a contemporary transition from keyboard-influenced music to the all-sound music of the future” (1968; p. 5). In his compositions for percussion, Cage explored the musical potential of noise, viewing the distinction between noise and ‘musical’ sound as an arbitrary division similar to that of consonance and dissonance (Ibid). The confluence of noise and percussion music in Cage’s work is eloquently demonstrated by the composer’s use of the prepared piano. In his notes to Sonatas and Interludes (1948) Cage

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describes the prepared piano as “a percussion ensemble under the control of a single player” (p. 76).

Cage’s percussion compositions and his use of noise can be seen as an extension of Schoenberg’s exploration of dissonance. Cage suggested that Schoenberg’s emancipation of dissonance did not go far enough and that what was needed was to emancipate “music from its notes”(cited in Yates, 1967; p. 8). Cage felt that the traditional Western predominance of pitch as a structural device, over and above other compositional elements, was flawed. In his lecture Forerunners of Modern Music, Cage stated that:

Sound has four characteristics: pitch, timbre, loudness, and duration. The opposite and necessary coexistent of sound is silence. Of the four characteristics of sound, only duration involves both sound and silence. Therefore a structure based on durations (rhythmic: phrase, time lengths) is correct (corresponds with the nature of the material), whereas harmonic structure is incorrect (derived from pitch, which has no being in silence). (1968; p. 63)

For Cage, time was the ‘most fundamental’ musical characteristic and he developed a method of structuring his compositions dependent not “on tonal or thematic articulation, but on a rhythmic structure consisting of pre- compositionally determined temporal divisions” (Bernstein, 2002a; p. 70). Cage suggested that by utilising a durational structure both musical and non-musical sounds could be organised by the same method (Cage, 1942). In this regard Cage was influenced by Varèse’s conception of music as ‘organised sound’, which could reasonably contain a gamut of sonorities between noise and more traditionally understood musical events (Morgan, 1991).

In Cage’s work the application of noise in a musical context is realised at an ultimate philosophical level with 4’33” (1952). The composition aims to focus the listener’s attention on the environmental noise surrounding them. Cage suggests that everything that happened within the performance was music stating, “formerly, silence was the time lapse between sounds, useful towards a variety of ends . . where none of these or other goals is present, silence becomes . . not silence at all, but sounds, the Ambient sounds” (1968; p. 22). In addition to a kind of quintessential ‘noise’ piece 4’33”, represents a strong philosophical statement regarding what can and cannot constitute music in much the same way as

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Duchamp’s Fountain (1917) did for the visual arts. Indeed Joel Chadabe (1997) suggests Cage’s use of noise or “found sounds” (p. 24) can be traced to the influence of Marcel Duchamp’s series of readymade works utilising found objects.

Cage’s works and ideas represent some of the key musical and conceptual traits present in the experimental music tradition. Cage’s use of noise and durational structure extends on the work of Varèse, ultimately giving way to the musical acceptance of ambient sound with 4’33”. While Varèse embraced musical and non-musical sound within a musical context, Cage’s use of noise challenges the very notion of the musical context in which such sounds may be located. This type of challenge to traditionally understood notions of the composition and realisation of musical sound forms a central tenet of the experimental music tradition as it relates to the Clever Children.

New sounds, new technologies

Another important outworking of Cage’s exploration of noise is his use of electronic sound sources and instrumentation. Scored for two variable speed turntables, test tone recordings, piano and cymbal, Imaginary Landscapes No. 1 (1939) is one of the first electro-acoustic compositions and Cage’s first to utilise electronic non-musical sounds. In fact, the application and conception of electronic sound sources and treatments delineates a fundamental feature of much subsequent experimental music and suggests strong parallels with Electronica. In a prophetic and often-quoted excerpt from his Future of Music: Credo Cage claimed:

I believe that the use of noise to make music will continue and increase until we reach a music produced through the aid of electrical instruments which will make available for musical purposes and all sounds that can be heard. (1968; pp. 3–4)

Cage stated further that “the ‘frame’ or fraction of a second, following established film technique, will probably be the basic unit in the measurement of time. No rhythm will be beyond the composer’s reach” (Ibid; p. 5). Both predictions are abundantly fulfilled by the emergence of the sampler, sequencing software and Digital Audio Workstations (DAWs) – all used widely within Electronica in the creation and realisation of musical works –whereby a composer can control every

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facet of a sound and place it within a time grid at a resolution of up to 1/192,000th of a second. In what could have been rallying cry to the Rave movement, Cage wrote, “percussion music is revolution . . tomorrow, with electronic music in our ears, we will hear freedom” (1939; p. 87).

In the years following the Second World War electronic music emerged as a field unto itself as composers turned to audio technology for a variety of new sounds and compositional techniques. One key factor in this development was the commercialisation of magnetic tape recording technology captured from Germany during the war. The wider availability of recording technologies suggested new possibilities for the realisation of musical works in recorded form. Recordable discs and magnetic tape allowed composers to work directly with recorded sounds, juxtaposing and moulding them in a manner similar to that suggested by Varèse and Cage. French composer Pierre Schaeffer along with audio engineer Jacques Poullin pioneered this new form of composition with a series of works known as the Etudes de bruits. Comprising manipulate recordings of locomotives, bells, piano, children’s toys and a range of other sounds taken from nature the Etudes represent the first works of musique concrète, a term invented by Schaeffer to refer to his use of recorded sounds taken from the real world. Schaeffer’s method of composition utilised a number of new techniques to transform and modify sound made possible by the electronic medium including editing, isolating and juxtaposing individual sounds; altering the playback speed and associated pitch of a recording; retrograding or reversing a recording; filtering out certain frequencies of a recording; adding reverberation; looping segments of sound; altering the volume of a recording to create fades (Holmes, 2002;).

The musical application of recordable media, such as tape, represents a dramatic change to the act of composition in that, for the first time, composers could work directly with sound itself and realise musical works without the need for a score, performer or performance. Significantly the development of recordable magnetic tape and the subsequent adoption of the recording-as-instrument is referred to by a number of authors as an important antecedent to Electronica.

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Waxing lyrically, and at times incomprehensibly8, on the emergence of Hip Hop Manning (2004) conflates the DJs use of break-beats and scratching with the pioneering musique concrète works of Schaeffer and Henry suggesting that “at a stroke, one of the fundamental techniques of early musique concrete was reborn” (p. 176). While similarly unclear on the origin of such developments9 Cutler (1994) argues that “the widespread plundering of records for samples that are recycled in HipHop, House and Techno” (p. 152) sits within an historical narrative beginning with concrete and taking in works by Varèse, Schaeffer, Stockhausen and Cage as well as the “captured visual images” (p. 146) of Duchamp’s ready-mades. In concurrence with both Manning and Cutler, Cox and Warner (2004) position Cage’s Imaginary Landscapes No. 1 and Schaeffer’s work as effectively birthing DJ Culture suggesting that “Pierre Schaeffer is surely the godfather of sampling composition. … anticipat[ing] HipHop and electronic dance music” (p. 329). A level of caution is required regarding such claims however for, as Gann warns:

[Though] it would be gratifying to claim that the explosion of so-called postmodern music in the 1980s and 1990s based, via samplers and DJ performances, on recordings was the direct result of Cage’s early experiments [with radios and turntables in Imaginary Landscapes No, 4 (1951), Water Music (1952), Variations IV (1963)]. . Many young urban pop musicians, however, had probably never heard the name John Cage until long after they had been spinning records on turntables by hand. (2002; p. 248)

Running parallel to the development and concerns of musique concrète is the emergence of sound synthesis technologies and their application to music. Where musique concrète is concerned with the manipulation of recorded often naturally

8 Manning (2004) confuses Rap – a vocal style prominent in contemporary Hip Hop – with Hip Hop itself – a musical and cultural descriptor that encompasses DJing, break- dancing, graffiti and Rapping; scratching with the use of breakbeats – and appears generally confused as to origins of Hip Hop and, more importantly, the precedence of Dub in the musical application of pre-recorded material to create new works (see pp. 77– 83 of this dissertation for more detail). 9 As with Manning (2004), Cutler (1994) displays some confusion related to the adoption of the turntable-as-instrument in popular music confusing scratching for beat-juggling and suggesting both were the product of “radical black disco music” (p. 150) rather than Hip Hop, seemingly unaware of key figures such as DJ Kool Herc and Grandmaster Flash.

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occurring sounds, synthesis technologies seek to create entirely new sounds through the use of electronic means such as oscillators and noise generators. Crucial to the development of this parallel stream of electronic music was the establishment in 1952 of an electronic music studio within the West German Radio (WDR) by Herbert Eimert. The studio was notable in that

In addition to variable-speed tape recorders and the filters, echo chambers, amplifiers, and the like found in musique concrète studios, [it] also contained electronic sound- producing devices: oscillators and noise generators. With these, composers could construct their own material ‘from the ground up,’ rather than relying upon natural sounds with predetermined timbral characteristics that, even when modified, could not be completely removed. (Morgan, 1991; p. 464)

Eimert’s elektronische musik studio played host to, among others, Karlheinz Stockhausen who created his Studie I (1953) and Studie II (1954) at the facility in an attempt to realise the application of serialist principles to the construction of sound itself through additive synthesis using proportionally related sine tones (Griffiths, 1995;). Similarly to works of musique concrète, early electronic music challenged traditional conceptions of the realisation of a musical work by doing away with the role of performer. In a 1958 lecture Stockhausen proclaimed, “in electronic music, the interpreter no longer has any function. The composer, in collaboration with some technicians, realizes the entire work” (p. 373). In this context Stockhausen notes that “sounds and noises are in the first instance nothing but material. Neither one nor the other of these acoustical phenomena is by nature good or bad. The only crucial thing is what one makes of them” (Ibid; p. 375). Stockhausen’s Gesang der Jünglinge (1956) ably demonstrates this point by introducing acoustic sound, in the form of the human voice, into an electronic music piece. The work is also notable for Stockhausen’s concern for the spatial placement, movement and direction of sounds through the use of multiple loudspeakers deployed throughout the performance environment. The ability for composers working with electronic means to realise works without the need for a score, performer or performance profoundly alters the way music can be composed, realised and received.

Though initially a clear distinction was made between tape based and ‘pure’ electronic music this division was rendered largely irrelevant by the middle of the 1950s as composers such as Stockhausen created works that utilised both concrete Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 55

and electronic sound sources (Morgan, 1991). This point is underscored by the consolidation of both synthesis and sampling technologies by electronic music composers within the popular music tradition beginning in the 1970s. The use of electronics to generate, record and modify or ‘treat’ sound is an important aspect of the experimental music tradition identified as foreshadowing the Clever Children and is present, in various forms, in the work of Cage, Richard Maxfield, Christian Woolf, Gordon Mumma, Gavin Bryars and the Minimalist composers. Of particular note is the manner in which electronic devices were introduced into performance practice “not by taking into concert halls the equipment from the electronic studios . . but by inventing and adapting . . portable electronic technology” (Nyman, 1999; p. 75).

Both the French musique concrète and the german elektronische musik, represent a radical subversion of the performance act, as traditionally understood, and the performers role in the realisation of musical works. Technological advances of the 1960s and 70s meant that technology could move out of the studio and into a live performance environment. Key here is the advent of the commercial modular synthesizer, produced by Robert Moog and Donald Buchla, followed in 1974 by the Synclavier and the world’s first digital sampler / synthesizer, the Fairlight C(omputer)M(usic)I(nstrument). By the end of the 70s music technology had become an intrinsic part of the processes of creation, realisation and reception of musical works in both ‘art’ and ‘popular’ music. Over the ensuing decades technology will reshape popular music and give rise to Electronica as well as significant developments in electro-acoustic music within an art-music context (Holmes, 2002).

The impact of these types of music technology represents another important precursor to the work Clever Children. In many ways the application of sampling and synthesis technology perfectly fulfils Cage’s prediction of “electrical instruments which will make available for musical purposes and all sounds that can be heard” (1968; pp. 3–4). Manning (2004) argues that such technological developments represent “the most important feature of Techno”, used here as a stand-in for a variety of forms of Electronica, and that “later manifestations such as Minimal Techno and Trance, Listening Techno [IDM], and Hardcore are all linked by the use of synthesizers, samplers, and signal processors as the primary means of sound production” (p. 178). Indeed, Wishart (1996) goes so far as to Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 56

suggest that it is the impact of music technology, in the form of sound recording, processing and synthesis that is “the central watershed in changing our view of what constitutes music” (p. 5). Neill (2002) is in accordance, asserting that the emergence of the group of composers identified in this dissertation as Clever Children can be seen as a function of developments in “music technologies that started in the 1970s and 1980s” (p. 387).

Process and indeterminacy

Around the same time Varèse and Cage were challenging traditional notions of musical content another important development was playing out that would redefine the Western conception of the musical work itself. In the period surrounding the Second World War, composers such as Stockhausen and Boulez applied the organisational principal of the tone row to all aspects of a musical work including harmony, rhythm, timbre and dynamics (Morgan, 1991). In essence these composers were handing over control of the composition of a musical work to a process independent of their own tastes and desires.

Such process-based composition would prove an influential idea and Nyman (1999) argues that the focus on composition as an experimental process is a unifying aspect of experimental music:

Experimental composers . . are more excited by the prospect of outlining a situation in which sounds may occur, a process of generating action (sounding or otherwise), a field delineated by certain compositional ‘rules’. (1999; p. 4)

Nyman’s conception of experimental music, formulated with reference to the work of Cage, Reich and others, is picked up by Cox and Warner (2004) who suggest that such composers are “fundamentally interested in the issue of process” (p. 207) and that their influence “can be discovered in fringe pop, rock, punk, HipHop and electronica” (Ibid; p. 208). This linking of process-based composition and the work of the Clever Children is made more explicit by Ben Neill (2002) who suggests that “conceptual and process oriented composition . . can be seen turning up in clubs and on dance record” (p. 388). Discussing the way in which this focus on process is affected Holmes (2002) indicates that “the very nature of electronic music instruments, old and new, encourages a composer to think in terms of a process” (p. 251). Central to an understanding of these

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narratives is Cage’s re-evaluation of the role of the composers and the musical work itself. In addition to realising an ultimate ‘musical’ application of noise Cage’s 4’33” also marks a distinct change in direction in the artists own compositional aesthetic. Morgan notes that,

4’33” . . brought [Cage] to a difficult impasse. Either he could give up composing entirely, on the grounds that if all sounds can be viewed as music, musical ‘composition’ is hardly necessary–or he could devise methods for preserving the activity of composition (and performance) as redefined by this conception of radical intentionless. Cage, of course, chose the latter course, and since the early 1950s he has devised various strategies permitting disciplined activity while discouraging ‘purpose.’ (1991; p. 363).

Cage was attempting to demonstrate that there was no such thing as silence – only intentional and non intentional sound – arguing in Experimental Music for a new music that would open “the doors of music to the sounds that happen to be in the environment” (1968; p. 8). Cage also redefined the role of composition as “implement[ing] processes which are . . opportunities for perception (observation and listening)” (1967; p. 170). Post 4’33” Cage became more interested in the idea of composition as a process that was not under the control of the composer. In so doing, Cage wanted to create music “free of individual taste and memory . . and also of the literature and ‘traditions’ of the art” (1968; p. 59). For Cage “the highest purpose [was] to have no purpose at all” (Ibid; p. 155) and the composer made use of the related compositional techniques of chance operations and indeterminacy to achieve a music of non-intention.

A common conception is that Cage’s striving for ‘intentional unintentionality’ was influenced by the composers studies of non-Western thought including Indian philosophy and Zen Buddhism. While Cage’s exposure to these differing world- views appears to have been a catalyst for “crucial changes in his musical style” (Bernstein, 2002b; p. 186), Cage is reported to have “appreciat[ed] their philosophic or aesthetic tenets on a highly selective basis . . recontextualising, reconfiguring and in some cases transgressing the intentions and ideals of their original authors” (Patterson, 2002a; p. 48). Cage did not, as might be expected, modify his compositional practice or aesthetic in line with the systems of thought he was investigating. Rather, the composer seems to have latched onto ideas or analogies that were useful in helping him clarify, justify or reinforce his own pre- Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 58

existing (though still developing) aesthetic. Revill points out that Cage “was adamant that he did not want Zen to be held responsible – blamed – for what he did after coming into contact with it [and that] his inclinations . . exist before the terms used to categorize them” (1992; p. 125). Less charitably, Gann suggests that Cage “seemed to dabble in occult and eastern philosophies for the numbers and concepts he could cadge from them for his music and writings (2002).

Beginning with Sixteen Dances (1951), Cage made use of chance operations to determine various elements of his compositions, generally moving from broad structural elements to the minutiae of sonic detail. Cage’s chance operations included the use of the I Ching or Chinese Book of Changes, magic squares, tarot cards and imperfections on pieces of paper. Through the use of these techniques Cage hoped to exclude from the compositional process his own prejudices, likes and dislikes (Cowell, 1971). By the mid 1950s Cage had refined his understanding of the compositional process to the point where a work “had ceased being an object and had instead become the process of its occurrence” (Shultis, 1998; p. 32). In his article History of Experimental Music in the United States, Cage wrote that:

More essential than composing by means of chance operations, it seems to me now, is composing in such a way that what one does is indeterminate of its performance. In such a case one can just work directly, for nothing one does gives rise to anything that is preconceived. (1968; p. 69)

Cage used the term ‘indeterminacy’ to distinguish this new approach from his previous use of chance operations. The key difference for Cage appears to be the unrepeatability of an indeterminate composition. Where chance compositions involve the use of some form of random procedure, indeterminate works are written in such a way that each performance will be unique. Pritchett notes that “chance procedures can be used to create a work that is completely fixed from one performance to another . . [and that just because] a score is indeterminate does not mean that chance is involved in its composition or performance” (1993; p. 108).

In Cage’s indeterminate works, and in works of the experimental music tradition more broadly, the role of the composer and performer are radically altered, as is the relationship between the performer and the score. The changes brought about by Cage’s application of indeterminate processes in works such as Variations I

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(1958) undermines traditional conceptions of the musical work as a permanent and repeatable artefact. The use of these types of processes led to a radical shift in the methods and function of notation, with scores no longer conceptualised as symbols of music notation for the reproduction of a ‘musical thought’ or ‘pattern of sounds’ but instead facilitating the expression of ideas and concepts with their interpretation left to the performer. Cage notes that in his indeterminate works “one cannot determine exactly what effect the notation causes” (1960; p. 135). In this context the score thus becomes a system of instructions or series of tools rather than a representation of sound and the role of the composer as a designer of these systems.

This re-purposing of the score can be seen as an extension of the use of graphic notation techniques resulting in the dissolution of the relationship between scored notes and realised sound. Cornelius Cardew observes in his 1971 Treatise Handbook that:

A composer who hears sounds will try to find a notation for sounds. One who has ideas will find one that expresses his ideas, leaving their interpretation free, in confidence that his ideas have been accurately and concisely notated. (p. iii)

Similarly La Monte Young’s Fluxist Compositions 1960 consist solely of written instructions to the performer such as “build a fire in front of the audience [and] turn a butterfly (or any number of butterflies loose in the performance area. When the composition is over, be sure to allow the butterfly to fly away outside” (1960; pp. 70-71). Other instructions within Compositions 1960 direct the performer to hold a perfect fifth (B and F#) “for a long time” (cited in Potter, 2000; p. 51).

A consequence of these changes to notational practice is a new conception of the role of the performer and in some cases the audience to one of active participation in the creation and reception of an experimental composition. In fact in some of the more open experimental works, the indeterminate elements of a score guarantee that no two performances will have any perceptible commonality of content or, in some cases, form:

A performance of a composition that is indeterminate of its performance is necessarily unique. It cannot be repeated. When performed for a second time, the outcome is other than it was. Nothing therefore is accomplished by such a performance, since that

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performance cannot be grasped as an object in time. (Cage, cited in Nyman, 1999; p. 10)

Many pieces of indeterminate or process-based music exist in what can be described as a “state of actualization [in which the work] is not real, does not exist, until a performance is realized, or played in real time” (Holmes, 2002; p. 12). Where a piece only exists in recorded form, the various elements that make each performance unique conspire to create a recorded work which, rather than being a representation or interpretation of a score, becomes the original template of a piece from which other performances are reproduced. Susan Broadhurst suggests that this characteristic of experimental music “unquestionably shatters the valued distinction between ‘live’ and ‘recorded’ performance, as well as that between ‘original’ and reproduction’” (1999; pp. 146–147).

The intrinsic unrepeatability of many indeterminate and process based works undermined the very notion of the autonomous musical work and gave rise to equally unique performative contexts. This can be seen in the melding of theatre, dance, the visual arts and music in the art ‘happenings’ begun by Cage in collaboration with pianist David Tudor, painter Robert Rauschenber and dancer / choreographer Merce Cunningham at Black Mountain College in 1952 (Salzman, 1988). The performance of the first of these, Theatre Piece No. 1 (1952), saw Cage and collaborator Charles Olson reading from atop ladders whilst Robert Rauschenberg exhibited paintings and played scratched phonograph records, David Tudor performed on a prepared piano and Merce Cunningham danced. Similar approaches to performance can be seen in the work of the fluxus artists and art happenings of the 1960s counter-culture including drug fuelled psychedelic rock and drug-fuelled psychedelic minimalism (discussed below). Later multimedia works such as Salvatore Martirano’s L’s G.A. (1968) and Cage’s HPSCHD (1969) are characteristic of a growing theatricality of experimental music performance practice ranging from “freely evolving, essentially unstructured musical ‘occurrences’ where virtually anything, musical or otherwise, could take place” to more structured works “combining music with light shows or films, or compositions that simply use electronic sounds in conjunction with live performance” (Morgan, 1991; p. 449).

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Stasis and repetition

Concurrent with Cage’s adoption of process based composition and indeterminacy was the development of a new musical aesthetic involving the application of static musical form and content. The rejection of tonality and associated adoption of serialist technique often resulted in is a sense of stasis engendered by the rejection of harmonic progression. While stasis is present from the early twentieth century in the works of Debussy and Satie, a number of experimental composers, beginning with Varèse, have embraced these static qualities in a new context. The ultimate application of these ideas within the context of the experimental music tradition is found in the work of the so-called ‘minimalist’ composers, represented here through the works of La Monte Young, Terry Riley, Steve Reich and Philip Glass.

Minimalism is identified as antecedent to a range of Electronica genres. McClary (1999) posits minimalism’s use of repetition as a structural device as a fundamental underpinning of various genres within Electronica including Hip Hop and Techno, positioning them in an historical survey of twentieth century music that includes Schoenberg, Stravinsky, Cage, Boulez, Stockhausen, Young, Riley, Oliveros, Glass, sampling technology, Ravi Shankar and the Beatles. Acknowledging that this represents a “bewildering profusion of musical practices” (Ibid; p. 296) McClary nevertheless articulates what has become a more widely held view that the work of the minimalist composers, particularly Steve Reich, has been somehow absorbed into popular music “like some microbiotic virus … especially prominent in the various form of electronic dance music– Techno, house and the ‘post-Techno’ offshoots” (Sherburne, 2004; p. 319). Cox and Warner (2004) argue that Reich’s work prefigures the “layered, modular repetition” (p. 288) found in Techno and other forms of Electronica through which minimalism has “provided new resources for sound artists who are as likely to present their work in galleries as in clubs” (Ibid; p. 288).

One of the central ideas explored by the Minimalist composers is the use of stasis. This can be seen in the work of La Monte Young for whom the influence of serialism coupled with an interest in non-Western musics including Indian classical music and the Japanese Gagaku (Kostelanetz, 1963) resulted in a concern for static harmony and the use of drones. Young was primarily interested

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in the psycho-acoustic effects of prolonged, sustained notes and their effect on human consciousness10. Young has stated that he was interested in “the study of a singular event, in terms of both pitch and other kinds of sensory situations” (1963; p. 44). Explaining this interest Young wrote

To my knowledge there have been no previous studies of the long term effects on continuous periodic composite sound waveforms on people. (Long term is defined to be longer than a few hours in this case). My past work in music with sounds of long duration slowly led in this direction until it became possible for me to develop a situation allowing the study of truly continuous sounds by establishing continuous frequency environments with electronic instruments. (1969; pp. 6–7)

These concerns resulted in Young experimenting with just intonation through The Well Tuned Piano (1964) and The Tortoise, His Dreams and Journeys (1964) realised in the context of Young’s performance group The Theatre of Eternal Music11. Young’s work is also notable for his use of mixed-media components such as light shows and installation type performances. Young’s Dream House (1974), for example, presents The Tortoise (1964) in an installation environment in which the work could be realised in a hyper-elongated form for prolonged periods of time. Young said,

I began to think of the silences as including the beginning silence and the ending silence so that musicians could take it up and if they worked with the same pitches and the same key, let’s say, then we could think of each performance as a continuation of the bigger work. To facilitate that approach I somehow came up with this idea of a permanent location where a work could grow and develop and evolve a life and tradition of its own. (cited in Toop, 1995; p. 175)

Another important factor influencing Young (and fellow minimalist Terry Riley) is the use of hallucinogenic substances. For the generation that came of age in the

10 Whilst the use of rhythmic repetition – another key minimalist trait – does not feature heavily in Young’s work, it is present in Arabic Numeral (any integer) [X] for Henry Flynt which consists of any loud percussive sound repeated any number of times (Schwarz, 1996). Where the score specifies a piano, the first performance Young gave of the work consisted of the composer hitting a gong with a drumstick (Potter, 2000) and in another instance hitting a frying pan some 6000 times (Nyman, 1999). 11 The group featured John Cale who would later be instrumental in setting up proto avant-rock group The Velvet Underground and produced the Happy Monday’s album Squirrel and G-Man Twenty Four Hour Party People Plastic Face Carnt Smile (White Out). Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 63

1960s, experimentation with hallucinogenic substances such as LSD often went hand in hand with an exploration of non-Western philosophies. Keith Potter (2000) suggests that “it is unlikely that Young’s . . musical development . . would have take the form it did” (p. 66) without the use and experience of cannabis, peyote and LSD. These drugs are notable for affecting the user’s perception of time and focus, as Terry Riley reveals:

I think I was noticing that things didn’t sound the same when you heard them more than once. And the more you heard them, the more different they did sound. Even though something was stating the same, it was changing. I became fascinated with that. I realized it was stasis – it was what La Monte and I had talked about a lot in terms of his long-tone pieces – but it was stasis in a different application. In those days the first psychedelic experiences were starting to happen in America, and that was changing our concept of how time passes, and what you actually hear in music. (cited in Schwarz, 1996; p. 35)

Like Young, Riley had experimented with a wide range of psychoactive substances including Marijuana, Peyote, Psilocybin, Mescalin and LSD and these appear to have had a significant impact on his music. Potter (2000) argues that “it is probably impossible to overemphasise the changes [drugs] helped bring about in Riley’s spiritual as well as musical development in the early 1960s” (p. 105). Drugs suggested to Riley the ‘sacredness’ of music and along with many in his generation he believed that psychedelic drugs could act as consciousness raising agents and catalysts for mystical and spiritual experience as well as opening the mind to otherwise unattainable concepts (Duckworth, 1995).

Riley’s drug experiences also appear to have drawn him into the 1960s counterculture, resulting in an engagement with popular music not normally associated with Western Art music. Schwarz (1996) claims that “Riley had plugged into the spirit of the early days of psychedelica, a time when communal ritual and perceptual alteration were on everyone’s mind, a time when the flourishing San Francisco counterculture was nearing its peak” (p. 44). Similarly David Toop (1995) suggests the impact that Riley’s music had on popular culture was due to the fact that,

. . a composer was writing pieces which had grooves, improvised around modes . . that sounded as if psychotropics had been involved at some stage of the compositional process, and that explored new technology and studio processing [and Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 64

that] the albums were packaged by Columbia as rock albums, despite being on the Masterworks series, so implying that the razor wire dividing so-called classical, rock, jazz, art and commerce had been cut in a few places. (p. 182)

The bulk of Riley’s compositional output involves the use of small repeated musical figures or cells, often of different lengths, which are repeated and superimposed against one another (Mertens, 1983). Riley’s use of repetition was heavily informed by experimentations with musique concrète and tape loops (Holmes, 2002). Potter notes “the short fragments of sound made possible by this technology suggested that repetition itself, rather than Young’s concept of sustained sounds, could be made the chief means of musical organization; repetition seemed, to Riley, endemic to working with tape” (2000; p. 99). Another impacting factor on Riley’s adoption of repetition as a compositional concern was the influence of non-Western music and in particular the use of static harmony and extensive repetition of short motifs in the music of Morocco and North Africa (Ibid).

In addition to the use of repetition, Riley’s compositional output is significant in terms of a return to modal tonality. Works such as In C (1964) reacted against atonal serialism and other Western Art musics of the time and “forcefully reasserted tonality as a viable force in new music . . by re-embracing the primal forces of unambiguous tonality, pounding pulse and motoric repetition” (Schwarz, 1996; p. 45). In C comprises 53 scored segments or modules of varying length for any number of performers and instruments. Performers may start at different times, play through the modules independently of one another and may choose to repeat or omit modules as they see fit. As the performers move through the piece the various juxtapositions of melodic material create shifting rhythmic and harmonic emphases, which gradually change and develop over the course of a performance, which can last from 45 minutes to an hour and a half.

The elongated static forms and use of repetition found in the works of Riley and Young laid the groundwork for possibly the most widely known and influential minimalist composer Steve Reich. Of the minimalist composers discussed here Reich is the most often cited in relation to and engaged with Electronica and the Clever Children. Reich is hailed as the father of DJ culture (Gordon, 1998) and actively buys into such narratives suggesting that producers of Electronica don’t “just like what I do, they appropriate it!” (cited in Abbot, 2002; p. 68). Reich then Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 65

is a central figure in terms of the supposed influence of the experimental music tradition, and minimalism more particularly, on the work of the Clever Children and thus requires a slightly more detailed discussion of his work and ideas.

Similarly to Riley, Reich’s early compositional approach was informed by experimentation with magnetic tape. Reich was specifically interested in the phase shifting that occurred when two identical tape loops were played slightly out of synchronisation with each other. Due to the fact that the phasing sound waves add algebraically, elements of the recording are cancelled our or made more prominent as the recordings move in and out of phase with each other. Reich experimented with this technique in a number of pieces including It’s Gonna Rain (1965) and Come Out (1966) which consist of two identical tape loops which are repeated over and over again and allowed to move in and out of phase with each (Nyman, 1999). Reich indicates that the idea of using constant repetition came from his interactions with Terry Riley and that as he listened to the phase shifting process in action he “began to realize that it was an extraordinary form of musical structure . . It was a seamless, uninterrupted musical process” (2002; p. 20).

A second, possibly more important, outcome of Reich’s tape pieces is what the composer would later refer to as ‘resulting patterns; the “psycho-acoustic by- products of the repetition and phase-shifting” (Ibid; p. 26) resulting from the “incomprehensible overlapping of text and phonetic elements” (Mertens, 1983; p. 49). Finding tape a limiting medium but not content that he had fully explored the possibilities of phasing, Reich subsequently applied the technique to instrumental music through works such as Reed Phase (1965), Piano Phase (1967) and Violin Phase (1967). In Violin Phase, Reich reintroduces the concept of ‘resulting patterns’:

As one listens to the repetition of the several violins, one may hear first the lower tones forming one or several patterns, then the higher notes are noticed forming another, then the notes in the middle may attach themselves to the lower tones to form still another. All these patterns are not really there; they are created by the interlocking of two, three, or four violins all playing the same repeating pattern out of phase with each other. Since It is the attention of the listener that will largely determine which particular resulting pattern he or she will hear at any one moment, these patterns can be understood as psychoacoustic by-products of repetition and phase-shifting. (2002; p. 26)

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Similar to Riley’s use of repeated musical modules in In C, Reich’s phase pieces are built from small repeated patterns from which new patterns emerge as the repeated patterns are phased against themselves in a canon. The phase pieces represented a shift in Reich’s work towards process based composition. Reich has said,

I began to see [the phase pieces] as processes as opposed to compositions. I saw that my methods did not involve moving from one note to the next, in terms of each note in the piece representing the composer’s taste working itself out bit by bit. My music was more impersonal. (2002; p. 33)

Reich wanted to use processes to create a depersonalisation of the piece under construction, ceding control over the piece to the process itself. The ultimate expression of this can be seen in Pendulum Music (1968) in which the performer’s only role is to set in motion several microphones suspended above loudspeakers and allow the ensuing feedback to take its course. Reich acknowledges a similarity to John Cage in this regard with reference to his use of ‘indeterminacy’. However Reich differentiates between himself and Cage stating that; “the processes [Cage] used were compositional ones that could not be heard when the piece was performed” (1968; p. 10), whereas what Reich was interested in was a process that could be used as the subject rather than the source of the music.

In his essay Music As A Gradual Process, Reich expounds further on this idea stating, “what I’m interested in is a compositional process and a sounding music that are one and the same thing” (1968, p. 10). For Reich, the act of creating a piece of music was the music itself. This approach was partly inspired by his experimentation with electronic equipment, and in the same essay he stated “it is quite natural to think about musical processes if one is frequently working with electro-mechanical sound equipment” (Ibid; p. 10). To this end Reich would later utilise an electronic device – the phase shifting pulse gate – to manage the process of phase shifting electronically generated tones automatically. Reich composed two pieces for the pulse gate Pulse Music (1969), a completely electronic piece, and Four Log Drums (1969), in which performers simply reproduced the pulses from the gate. However he was dissatisfied by the what he felt were stiff and unmusical results of both the gate itself and the performance element, which involved simply twisting knobs onstage (Potter, 2000). The phase shifting pulse gate was probably a device ahead of its time as an interesting parallel can be Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 67

drawn to the current crop of electronic musicians whose stage act is nothing but tweaking knobs or interacting with computers.

Like La Monte Young and Terry Riley before him, non-Western music had a profound impact on Reich. Drumming (1971), and Clapping Music (1972) for example, were heavily influenced by a trip Reich made to Ghana in 1970 to study West African drumming with a master drummer of the Ewe tribe. The polyrhythmic structure of West African music had strong similarities to Reich's own including an emphasis of rhythm over melody and harmony and the use of repetition as a structural device. In particular Reich said the trip “confirmed my intuition that acoustic instruments could be used to produce music that was genuinely richer in sound that that produced with electronic instruments, as well as confirming my natural inclination towards percussion” (2002; p. 67). Reich’s compositional output was also influenced by his studies of the Javanese Gamelan. Reich states that Gamelan and African drumming are primarily ensemble musics with fixed or through-composed interlocking patterns (Ibid). Rather than simply emulating the musics of another culture Reich sought to apply the structural, rather than sonic principles of these Non-Western musics to his own work suggesting that “in that way [he] might continue to use the pitches and timbres that are in his ear since birth but with the added resource of a new compositional technique” (Ibid; p. 107).

Another important departure in these pieces and one that would heavily shape Reich’s subsequent output is the use of his own hand picked ensemble, Steve Reich and Musicians, which expanded significantly, beginning with Drumming, to accommodate Reich’s growing choices of instrumentation and the composers particular requirements for performance techniques adjunct to the classical music tradition. Reich’s pieces were often unsuited to the talents of classically trained musicians and subsequently the ensemble was made up of ‘trained’ musicians who had gravitated towards non-Western musics, free improvisation and jazz (Ibid).

The new compositional technique referred to by Reich can be seen in his first ‘maximalist’ composition Music for 18 Musicians (1976). The work represents a significant turning point in Reich’s creative output and is described by Potter as ‘the culmination of Reich’s achievements [and] a summation of a decade’s

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efforts” (Potter, 2000; p. 231). 18 Musicians moves beyond Reich’s stated objectives of audible processes and impersonality. In conversation with Michael Nyman, Reich said of the piece “I’m not as concerned that one hears how the music is made . . I think Music for 18 Musicians was consciously composed with a feeling of liberating myself from strict structures” (Reich, 2002; p. 94). Building on the techniques used in Drumming and Music for Mallet Instruments, particularly the use of the human voice as instrument and the combining of different timbres, Reich significantly expands his use of tonal material stating famously that “there is more harmonic movement in the first five minutes of Music for 18 Musicians than in any other complete work of mine to this date” (Ibid; p. 87). Rhythmically, 18 Musicians utilises two different kinds of time, a constant, regular rhythmic pulse played by piano and mallet instruments and the rhythm of the human breathe in the vocal and wind instruments. Repetition is still an important element of the piece, but rather than straight juxtaposition, as in Reich’s phase pieces, or rhythmic construction, as in Drumming, 18 Musicians utilises the interplay of changing harmonic rhythms against constant melodic repetition. Unlike previous works, the piece is advanced by musical cues played on the metallophone in a similar role to the drummer in Balinese Gamelan and master drummer in West African music (Ibid). It is testament to the importance of the work that the pieces that immediately followed Music for a Large Ensemble (1978), Octet (1979) and Variations for Winds, Strings and Keyboards (1979) all see Reich further exploring the possibilities of expanded harmonic material and orchestration suggested in 18 Musicians.

At the same time as Reich was exploring the effects of phasing one of his ensemble members and onetime collaborator, Phillip Glass was taking minimalism in an entirely different direction. Glass uses the term ‘additive process’ to describe his own compositional technique, whereby rhythmic and melodic material is generated through repetition of an arithmetic process of expansion and contraction applied to a basic rhythmic or melodic motif. As a motif is repeated, notes are added or subtracted and the resultant pattern is then repeated with further addition or subtraction. For example, if starting with group of four pitches (1234), one repetition might add an extra pitch (5) resulting in (12345) while the next repetition might remove pitch 3 leaving (1245). Glass’ use of additive process is paired with cyclic repetition in which small motifs are used

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to build larger repeating cycles which are in turn combined with other repeating cycles to create the structure of the piece, “everything going at the same time and always changing” (Potter & Smith, 1976; p. 28). Glass labels these processes ‘self revealing’ in that, similar to Reich’s use of audible processes, they make the structure of the piece clearly audible causing the compositional process and sounding music to become indistinguishable (Mertens, 1983). Furthermore Nyman (1999) notes that Glass’s music creates psycho-acoustic affects similar to Reich’s ‘resultant patterns’.

Glass’ additive processes appear to have found their genesis in the composer’s collaboration with Steve Reich and his brief encounter with Indian sitarist Ravi Shankar. During 1965, Glass worked as the music director for the movie Chappaqua an LSD inspired “sixties hippie film” (Rockwell, 1997; p. 111) replete with psychedelic drugs and involving Allan Ginsberg and William Boroughs. As part of his duties, Glass was required to transcribe into Western notation music which sitarist Ravi Shankar had contributed to the film. In order to understand Shankar’s music, Glass spent several months with the sitarist and his tabla player learning the complexities of Indian classical music. Whilst it is questionable that Glass can have fully understood, in these brief meetings, an art form that takes most adherents a lifetime to learn, Indian music and culture would have a significant impact on Glass’ future output. The techniques of additive process and cyclic repetition were both fundamental elements of Glass’s minimalist output. These techniques were inspired by his contact with Shankar and lessons taken with tabla player Alla Rakha, though as Potter notes,

. . the kind of additive processes which Glass made the basis for his own music are not . . to be found in Indian practice; even the rigorous application of these is not a direct borrowing but an extrapolation of the composer’s own from the Indian approach to rhythm. (2000; p. 273)

In 1969 Glass composed four works building on his discovery, Two Pages; Music in Fifths; Music in Contrary Motion and; Music in Similar Motion. These works are based on Glass’s additive process, comprising (generally) modal material, which is advanced in a regular quaver rhythm. Instrumentation, register and dynamics are not specified and the scores lack any interpretive instructions other than ‘fast’ and ‘steady’. Performances were generally at high volume and intensity, with Glass’s performance group expanding in number and making use Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 70

of amplified electric keyboards, wind instruments and female voices (Potter, 2000). Schwarz notes that “none of these pieces have any changes in instrumentation, rhythm, tempo or dynamics; all reject the goal-oriented, development model of Western music; all favour a non-directional steady-state that suspends the passage of time” (1996; p. 123).

This points clearly to the direction Glass’s work would take post-1970 where the use of harmony as a structural principle becomes increasingly important at the expense of rhythmic structure (Mertens, 1983). Reflecting on Music in Twelve Parts (1974), Glass observes

. . the music is placed outside the usual time-scale substituting a non-narrative and extended time-sense, in its place . . the gradual accretion of musical material can and does serve as the basis of the listener’s attention, then he can perhaps discover another mode of listening – one in which neither memory nor anticipation (the usual psychological devices of programmatic music whether Baroque, Classical, Romantic or Modernistic) have a place in sustaining the texture, quality or reality of the musical experience. (cited in Mertens, 1983; p. 79)

The overt use of harmony as structural principle and the emphasis on the singularity of sound, reminiscent in some ways of Young’s minimalist works, coupled with Glass’ interest in theatre all combine as the basis for Glass’ best known work, Einstein on the Beach (1976). Created in collaboration with mixed- media theatre director Robert Wilson, Einstein on the Beach is ostensibly an opera stripped of dialogue, character development and linear narrative, and is the tipping point for Glass’ rejection of minimalism and move into ‘musical theatre’. Despite assertions from Glass that “for me minimalism was over by 1974” (cited in Schwarz, 1996; p. 128), Einstein utilises many of the minimalist techniques used in Music in Twelve Parts and, as Edward Strickland (2005) notes, the fact that Glass was able to condense the music for the (4 LP) recording of the work “may suggest the somewhat arbitrary nature of a musical exfoliation dictated more by process than by theme” (online). Building on the use of expanded use of harmony in Music in Twelve Parts, and a largely unknown work Another Look at Harmony12, Einstein on the Beach replaces the uses of rhythmic structure with

12 Which was later subsumed into the first two acts of Einstein on the Beach (Potter, 2000; p. 327). Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 71

harmonic structure “or, more accurately, structural harmony . . where the evolution of material can become the basis of an overall formal structure intrinsic to the music itself” (Glass, 1978; LP liner notes). Glass’ use of structural harmony in Einstein is far removed from Western programmatic music and “chords are used in a way that takes them outside the tonal functionalism of the classical system . . causing the tonal relationship to disappear” (Mertens, 1983; p. 79).

Summary of key musical and conceptual traits

The preceding discussion has surveyed the experimental music tradition emerging from the historical narratives outlining the influence of composers such as Cage, Stockhausen and Reich on Electronica and the work of the Clever Children. In doing so my aim has been to identify key musical and conceptual traits that are claimed to evidence such influence. While the validity of these claims will be assessed later in this dissertation for now these key traits will assist in developing an analytical framework to enable comparison between the experimental music tradition and Electronica in order to identify areas of congruence, confluence and influence with the Clever Children. With reference to the proceeding discussion then, a number of important musical and conceptual traits have emerged.

The application of non-musical sound by experimental composers begins with a rejection of functional harmony as an organising principle. The emancipation of dissonance has led to the privileging of rhythm and texture over melody and harmony as key compositional determinates. This resulted in musical and non- musical sounds achieving parity in the works of Varèse and Cage prefigured by the musical application of noise through new music technologies employed by the Futurist composers. This led both to the musical inclusion of ambient sound with Cage’s 4’33” and the use of electronics that allowed composers to work directly with sound through recording and synthesis technologies.

The abandonment of the autonomous musical work in favour of musical processes allowed experimental composers such as Cage to subsume their own personal tastes and preferences by abandoning direct control over the composition and realisation of musical works. This fundamentally challenged the traditional conception of the musical work as a permanent and repeatable artefact and led to a re-purposing of the score as a series of instructions or tools rather than a representation of sound. Within this context, the role of performer (and at times Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 72

the audience) became one of active participation in a co-operative process defined by, but out of the direct control of the composer. The unique performative nature of many process-based compositions resulted in the rise of equally unrepeatable performance events including art happenings and multi-media performances.

The adoption of stasis and repetition as structural devices by the minimalist composers led to extended musical forms built on a variety of compositional methodologies including the use of drones, loops and polyrhythmic material. While not corresponding directly with Cage’s use of indeterminacy, the minimalist composers did make use of a range of audible processes leading to what Reich (1968) identifies as a compositional process and ‘sounding music’ that are one and the same thing. Key to these developments was the influence of serialism, non-Western music and psychoactive substances as well as a notable engagement with popular culture. Minimalism also represents a return to modality, though not necessarily functional harmony, resulting in Reich’s maximalist period and Glass’ use of dramatically expanded use of structural harmony in his music theatre works.

With reference to these strands of the experimental music tradition, it is now possible to derive the following list of traits which will inform the analytical framework applied in this investigation. While necessarily selective and not always universally applicable, these traits do represent generally observable trends throughout the experimental music tradition as a whole.

Application of non-musical sound:

• Rejection of tonal structures

• Rejection of past traditions

• Predominance of timbre and rhythm over melody and harmony

• Rhythm used as a structural device and organising principle

• Use of non-musical sound and noise

• Use of Electronically generated, recorded and treated sound

Abandonment of the autonomous musical work in favour of musical processes:

• Emphasis on process based composition Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 73

• Use of chance operations and indeterminacy

• Use of non-traditional notation techniques

• Re-evaluation of and challenge to traditional conceptions of the roles of composer, performer and audience.

• Re-evaluation of and challenge to traditional conceptions of the creation, realisation and reception of musical works.

• Creation of multi / mixed media works

Adoption of the stasis and repetition:

• Use repetition as a structural device

• Use of static harmony

• Use of drones

• Use of deliberate and unintentional psycho-acoustic phenomena

• Influence of non-Western thought and musical traditions

• Influence of psychotropic substances

• Use of static / minimal instrumentation

• Minimal harmonic and melodic content

• Use of audible processes

• Additive and subtractive compositional processes

• Presence of a steady beat or pulse

• Extended musical forms

• Use of polyrhythmic material

These traits and the discussion of the brief discussion of historical narratives above, represent a reference point for identifying and evaluating the influence of the experimental music tradition within the following Collective Case Study of the Clever Children (Part III of this dissertation). However, to be of most use, these histories and emerging traits now need to be compared and contrasted with a similar set of observations pertaining to the field of Electronica.

Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 74

Elder Siblings – A Brief History of Electronica

Introduction

The purpose of this section is to briefly outline the historical development of Electronica in order to identify key musical and conceptual traits that will add to the analytical framework for comparison between the experimental music tradition and the works of the Clever Children. In addition, this section outlines an ‘alternate’ historical narrative within which the work of the Clever Children may be placed to that presented in the previous section. This section will examine the historical, musical and cultural contexts within which Electronica and its myriad genres exist. This section also seeks to provide a broad overview of the development and current practice of Electronica. Documenting this landscape is important because it demonstrates the complex nature of musical parentage and the ways in which certain musical elements have come to prominence in popular music over the past 30 years, including possible points of contact with the experimental music tradition. Several authors have suggested that Electronica has borrowed elements from the experimental music tradition. Ben Neill, for example, believes that

Pop electronic music is . . rapidly incorporating many elements of art music: experimental live performance techniques . . conceptual and process oriented composition . . collage . . performance art and theatrical spectacle . . and the extensive use of experimental software and hardware [that] can be seen turning up in clubs and on dance records around the world. (2002; p. 388)

Furthermore, there is sometimes claimed to be a discernable line of influence from the work of the experimentalist composers to these contemporary forms, albeit through several intermediary steps. Philip Sherburne elucidates one such narrative, contending that:

The origins of most contemporary electronic dance music – found in Kraftwerks’ 1974 opus ‘Autobahn’ and updated in the late 80s and early 90s with the streamlined electronic funk of Detroit Techno pioneers like Derrick May and Juan Atkins – emphasized a pared-down palette that cut away all the excesses of a bloating rock and pop tradition . . foreground[ing] the strategies pioneered in the work of so-called minimalist composers like Steve Reich and Phillip Glass. (2004; p. 320)

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Problematically, intermediaries such as Derrick May and Juan Atkins do not acknowledge a link to the experimental music tradition, often citing influences only one step up the chain. This poses the question whether these ideas are passed on via the multiple intermediary influences who may have reinterpreted them in their own way or are the result of a similar cultural / musical environment to that of the experimental composers. What appears to be a clear link between the experimental music tradition and Electronica may potentially be revealed by others to be simply a congruent idea inferred from an entirely different and / or unacknowledged sources. The history of Electronica sprawls through obscure, sometimes un-credited music-making, realised in clubs such as Frankie Knuckles legendary ‘The Paradise Garage’ in Chicago, The Detroit Musical Institute and large-scale outdoor Raves on the M25 motorway encircling London. Rather than a discrete coupling of musical genus’, the history of Electronica represents an inter- generational free-for-all, resulting in a complex array of musical variance. Sicko describes the problem most eloquently:

The fragmented landscape of today’s electronic music takes great patience to understand . . As much as techno is a sum of musical influences, it has also divided into an infinite number of substrata, which are nearly impossible trace. The easiest way to start is by looking at the ‘stronger’ genres that have emerged – those that have developed into full-fledged musical movements of their own and are not only distinct, but are rapidly causing changes worldwide. (1999; p. 189)

This enquiry will follow Sicko’s suggestion and focus only on the main strata of Electronica seeking to outline how and in what context major developments occurred and how particular ideas have been transmitted. In order to provide a concise and comprehensible musical history while still furnishing an appropriate level of information, it is necessary to focus on certain styles to the exclusion of others that may be classifiable as sub-genres or which are less relevant to the present research. Subsequently this section should not be viewed as a complete history of electronic music, but rather a familial context within which a discussion of specific representatives of Electronica can take place. Though convoluted and at times difficult to navigate, this history provides a context in which it is possible to discern congruence and confluence from influence with regard to the experimental music tradition.

Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 76

Dub

During the 1960s and 70s, the Jamaican Sound-System scene spawned a new and innovative style of music known as Dub Reggae or Dub. Developed by pioneer sound engineers and producers such as Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry, King Tubby and Augustus Pablo, Dub has been a significant influence on a range of Electronica, particularly Hip-Hop, Jungle and post-Rave experimental musics.

In an interesting parallel to subsequent DJ music / culture, the popularity of imported American R&B in Jamaica in the late 1950s and early 60s gave rise to the Sound-System, a mobile set of speakers and a record player that could be set up at a venue to provide music for large communal dances held in enclosed flattened areas known as dance halls (Clarke, 1980). In order to attract clientele the Sound-System operators, proto-DJs in the electronic dance music sense, would attempt to source exclusive recordings leading to fierce competition over obscure R&B records that gave rise to “the common practice of scratching out titles, names and even matrix numbers from the disc” (Barrow & Dalton, 2001; p. 17). Of primary importance to Electronica however, is the development of the Dub version – a remix of popular songs, specifically for dancing, recorded onto an acetate ‘Dub plate’ from which the genre takes its name.

In order to fulfil the desire of dancehall patrons for new material, Sound-System operators started recording their own R&B music. Towards the end of 1965, a number of Jamaican records were produced that included ‘riddim’ solos, a break in the music in which only the rhythm section or backing instruments play. These records became increasingly popular among dancehall patrons and records including a B-side instrumental version of Jamaican songs that would often be used as a background track for DJs or MCs to ‘toast’ (speak) over (Clarke, 1980).

During the 1970s, Jamaican record producers had access to multi-track recording studios which enabled different elements of an ensemble (for example, rhythm section, vocals, horns and guitars) to be recorded onto separate tracks. This allowed producers such as King Tubby and Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry to remix popular Reggae singles to create several unique Dubs or versions. Dubs were created by fading instruments in and out of the mix, introducing musique concrète elements such as breaking glass, crying babies and gunshots and utilising effects such as delay and reverb to create shimmery echoes and unusual rhythmic accents. In this Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 77

regard, Dub anticipated the remix culture of Hip-Hop, Disco and contemporary electronic dance music, reshaping a recording “as if music was modelling clay rather than copyright” (Toop, 1995; p. 118). Brewster and Broughton note that, in Jamaica the “record stopped being a finished thing . . it was no longer a complete piece of music but had become a tool of composition for a grander performance” (1999; p. 109). Furthermore, in Dub it is possible to observe several key tropes of popular electronic music culture. Dub foreshadows the rise of the DJ as key figure in dance music and predicates the 12” vinyl economy employed in New York, Chicago, Detroit and throughout the UK, Europe and the rest of the world.

Kraftwerk

One of the more credible links between the music of the experimental composers and Electronica, German group Kraftwerk melded a minimalist approach to music-making with an obsession for electronic experimentation. Key collaborators Ralf Hütter and Florian Schneider-Esleben met whilst studying jazz at the Düsseldorf conservatory and were directly influenced by the American minimalist composers and Stockhausen (Toop, 1995) as well as the proto-punk of the MC5, the Stooges and the Velvet Underground13 (Reynolds, 1998). Through works such as Autobahn (1974) and Trans-Europe Express (1977), musical expressions of the repetitive nature of long-distance car and train travel respectively, Kraftwerk-templated key elements of electronic dance music such as the use of the synthesizer, “a limited set of sounds [and a reliance on] loops, recurring sequences, and accumulation-through-repetition” (Sherburne, 2004; p. 319).

Kraftwerk’s music displays what Mertens (1983) suggests is an identifiable influence from minimalism, an observation upheld by a number of other observers and critics such as Simon Reynolds (2000) and Philip Sherburne (2004), who argues that Kraftwerk’s “pared down palette . . foregrounds the strategies pioneered in the work of so-called minimalist composers like Steve Reich and Phillip Glass [and explores] the very nature of repetition itself, carrying on the mantle of classical minimalism as a movement” (pp. 319–320).

13 Themselves heavily indebted to the involvement of La Monte Young’s associate John Cale (Reynolds, 1998). Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 78

One of the more influential bands of the 1970s, Kraftwerk have passed this minimalist mantle to a number of willing followers. Gilbert and Pearson suggest that “Kraftwerk have been highly influential, perhaps most obviously in their inspiration of various dance musics from Electro to Techno” (1999; p. 120). Detroit Techno figurehead Derrick May has been quoted as describing his music as “like George Clinton and Kraftwerk stuck in an elevator” (cited in Sicko, 1999; p. 26) and David Buckley suggests that Trans-Europe Express “codified what would later develop into techno” (Buckley, 2005b; online).

Afrika Bambaata famously sampled Kraftwerk’s Trans-Europe Express and Numbers for his 1982 record Planet Rock that spawned the electro movement (Reynolds, 1998). Kraftwerk’s 1981 record Home Computer has been cited as an influence on early Chicago House music (Sicko, 1999) and David Buckley suggests that Die Mensch Machine (1978) – The Man Machine – had “a huge influence on the burgeoning British synth-pop groups such as New Order . . The Human League and Depeche Mode” (2005b, online). Tellingly, Kraftwerk’s Autobahn is also present on the cover of the Warp labels first Artificial Intelligence album, hinting at an affinity with a range of post-Rave Electronica artists (Reynolds, 1998). Consequently Kraftwerk may be understood as one important link between the experimental music tradition and Electronica.

Hip-Hop

The exact point at which Hip-Hop emerged as an identifiable musical style is difficult to pin down. Part of the difficulty is, as Potter notes, “that Hip-Hop, like previous black musical forms, was not fundamentally new” (2001; p. 150). Instead, Hip-Hop appears to have developed out of the legacy of Funk, Soul, Jazz and R&B musics coupled with an approach to pre-recorded material inherited from the Jamaican Sound-Systems. What was different about Hip-Hop was its approach to the role of the DJ, the use of repetition and the creation of new music from pre-recorded sound.

Central to the development of Hip-Hop was Jamaican born DJ Kool Herc who immigrated to New York’s Bronx neighbourhood in 1967. Herc set up his own Sound-System, replete with MCs to ‘toast’ his skills, and began playing for ‘block parties’ sometime in the early-to-mid 70s. Shapiro notes that “when his reggae records failed to move the crowd he turned to funk, but the only part of the Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 79

records he would play was the short section where all the instrumentalists dropped out except for the percussionists” (2000c; p. 152). Herc realised that these percussion ‘breaks’, “usually played on the kick, snare and hi-hat, and lasting for one or two bars . . [and] distinguished by an emphasis on syncopation on the snare” (Furniess, 2005; online), could be looped by dextrously aligning two copies of the same record on separate turntables. Describing this process in more detail, Katz explains that:

Using two copies of the same disc, [early DJs such as Herc, Grandmaster Flash and Afrika Bambaata] would switch from turntable to turntable letting the passage play on one record and then the other, ‘backspinning’ the silent record to the right point just in time to create a seamless repetition of the passage. This process, called ‘looping,’ could be sustained indefinitely, given the skill of the DJ. (2005; p. 116)

The use of the breakbeat in conjunction with ‘toasting’14 came to define early Hip-Hop due to the “novel sound and an intense, danceable beat” (Potter, 2001; p. 150). More importantly, the breakbeat ushered in the use of sustained repetition as a structural element in electronic dance music. Building on this observation, David Toop argues that,

. . the break took it to the bridge, to paraphrase James Brown, and held that bridge in a looping mechanical stasis, thereby aligning Hip-Hop with other musical developments of the seventies including disco, minimalism, heavy metal, James Brown’s funk, Fela Anikulapo-Kuti’s Afrobeat, Jamaican Dub, and miles Davis’s electric music – all of them exploring entrancing elaborations and variations on repetition. (2000; p. 92)

Ignoring the rather broad associations made here between minimalism, heavy metal and other forms of popular music, the use of the breakbeat in Hip-Hop does bear strong congruence with elements of the minimalist tradition, which also utilised looped playback devices as a mechanism for creating repetition, albeit for slightly different purposes. Making this link explicit, Katz explains that:

A decade after Steve Reich was experimenting with tape loops in San Francisco, Hip- Hop DJs in the Bronx found that a fragment of music could be repeated indefinitely by switching back and forth between two copies of the same LP, each on its own turntable . . these repeated musical fragments were also called loops, and became the

14 Which would later develop into Rap (Potter, 2001). Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 80

basic structural unit in the instrumental accompaniment in rap [and in fact almost all contemporary electronic dance music]. (2005; pp. 30–31)

Though it would be difficult to prove that Kool Herc was referencing Reich and the minimalist composers in his use of breakbeats, a clear line of influence can be drawn from minimalism to Hip-Hop via Kraftwerk. Afrika Bambaataa’s seminal record Planet Rock (1982) sampled Kraftwerk’s melody from Trans Europe Express and the rhythm from Numbers (Savage, 1993). In the process Bambaataa helped create the Electro or electro-funk sound which combines the electronic instrumentation and stark minimalism of Kraftwerk with American funk music. The use of breakbeats would significantly impact the development of several genres of Electronica such as Hardcore (discussed further later in this dissertation). Aside from this ‘musical’ impact, the techniques pioneered by Kool Herc, Grandmaster Flash and Afrika Bambaataa gave birth to the use of the turntable-as-instrument and subsequently the DJ-as-musician. These two elements find their most complete expression in the virtuosic performances of contemporary ‘turntablism’.

‘Turntablism’ is a term coined by DJ Babu, a member of the Invisibl Skratch Piklz, and can be defined as “a musical practice in which pre-recorded phonograph discs are manipulated in live performance” (Katz, 2005; p. 115). At its most basic turntablism combines the skills of beat-juggling, that is, creating looped sections of audio from concurrently spinning records (such as in Kool Herc’s use of breaks mentioned above) with scratching; moving a vinyl record backwards and forwards while it is playing to create a burst of noise or scratch (Reighley, 2000). Utilising variations of these two basic techniques so-called ‘turntablists’ use the record player as an instrument for the creation of new music from pre-recorded material. Katz notes that “using turntables, mixers, and lightning-fast hands, DJs reorganize and recontextualize fragments of recorded sound and, in a kind of musical husbandry, breed rich new meaning from their juxtaposition” (2005; p. 136).

Of course Hip-Hop did not solely pioneer the use of the record player as an instrument. Pierre Schaeffer’s Études de bruits (1947) was composed entirely with turntable technology, while John Cage identified the turntable along with oscillators, generators and other devices as being key instruments in the future of

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experimental music (Cage, 1958). Acknowledging this in a 2001 interview, David Toop suggested that proto-turntablist Grandmaster Flash exists within a lineage of experimentation that can be traced to “composers like John Cage” (cited in Brewster, 2001; online). Furthermore, that Flash’s groundbreaking recording Adventures on the Wheels Of Steel, a workbook of early turntablist technique, “plugged into . . the experimental avant-garde area of music history” (Ibid). Whilst Toop does not adequately substantiate these claims, it is interesting to note that similar assertions are made by authors such as Thom Holmes. He cites Paul Miller (who creates under the alias DJ Spooky That Subliminal Kid), along with other turntablists Christian Marclay, DJ Olive and Philip Jeck in a musical lineage traced directly to Cage and Schaeffer (Holmes, 2002). As with the use of breakbeats, a clear congruence appears to exist and is acknowledged between turntablism and the experimental music tradition.

While early turntablist technique was developed in the context of live performance for dance parties, it was not until the late 70s and early 80s that these techniques were carried over to commercial recordings (Potter, 2001). In a move bearing remarkable similarities to the development of Dub reggae, early Hip-Hop artists such as Grandmaster Flash, Afrika Bambaataa and Grand Wizard Theodore utilised studio technology to create new recorded music from recycled sources. As time progressed developments in music technology led to Hip-Hop becoming an increasingly studio-based art form due in part to the use of programmable drum machines15 and the release of the comparatively affordable E-MU Emulator sampling keyboard in 1981. Drum machines and samplers made it much easier for Hip-Hop artists to utilise breakbeats without the need for beat juggling, as a break could be recorded and then looped via the sampler. Samplers have also been used to cut up and rearrange breaks, as well as other elements of a recording such as bass lines, horn riffs and keyboard stabs. For this reason, the use of the sampler has replaced the turntable in much contemporary Hip-Hop production. Simon Reynolds (1998) suggests that “sampling was the logical extension of the Hip- Hop DJ’s cut ‘n’ mix vinyl bricolage [and that] the sampler represents an easy-as- pie update of musique concrète’s tricky and time-consuming tape-splicing techniques” (p. 365).

15 First used by Grandmaster Flash to create a constant pulse for his turntable experimentations. Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 82

Whilst most contemporary Hip-Hop can be seen as “a series of mutations” (Toop, 2000; p. 93) on Hip-Hop’s origins, Dan Sicko notes that “other genres have either reinvented or re-established Hip-Hop’s forgotten archetypes” (1999; p. 192). The use of the breakbeat, turntable-as-instruments, drum machine and sampler have been key to Hip-Hop’s development. It is these elements which have found the most fertile ground outside of the genre and can be identified in UK Hardcore’s and Jungle / Drum ‘n Bass’s use of breakbeats and the sampler and Detroit Techno’s take on Electro-Funk.

Disco

During the late 1960s, New York developed as an epicentre for dance music culture. Dance clubs began opening in deserted warehouses and industrial spaces playing predominantly African-American and Hispanic funk and soul musics whose “long instrumental breaks and increasing emphasis on percussion and bass” provided the perfect catalyst for high energy dancing (Straw, 2001; p. 165).

Emerging from this new dance culture were a number of flamboyant gay clubs such as Salvation, Sanctuary and Haven that opened in the aftermath of the 1969 Stonewall riots, a major turning point in the homosexual rights movement. Prendergast notes that these clubs “were havens for black and Hispanic gays who wished to take drugs and listen to long improvised DJ sets which mixed music of a myriad of styles together” (2000; p. 376). While tight restrictions had previously been enforced on public displays of homosexuality, these new clubs flaunted their patrons’ newly won social freedoms. Collin writes that the club Salvation “was constructed as a temple to decadence and limitless hedonism . . with a huge painted Devil flanked by a host of angels, genitals exposed and locked in sexual communion” (1998; p. 11).

The DJs in these clubs rapidly achieved a level of celebrity for their “ability to create and sustain a mood over several hours” (Straw, 2001; p. 166). DJs such as Salvation’s Francis Grasso pioneered the technique of beat-matching, creating a seamless segue from one record to another by varying the speed at which a records were played back in order to match their tempo. Grasso “would layer the orgasmic moans from Led Zeppelin’s Whole Lotta Love over a heavy percussion break, cutting the bass and treble frequencies in and out to heighten the energy level, segueing from soul to rock and then on into hypnotic African drums and Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 83

change” (Collin, 1998; p. 11). Beat-matching of this type has been used by DJs in almost all subsequent forms of Electronica, and is foundational to the identity of the DJ as defined by Grove Music Online as “a performer in dance clubs who creates continuous music for dancing through the manipulation by mixing and joining of pre-recorded tracks” (Peel, 2005a; online).

It was into this environment that the first Disco records were released in 1973, including Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes The Love I Lost and Barry Whites’ I’m Gonna Love You Just a Little More Baby. Early Disco combined simplified Funk rhythms and the use of traditionally ‘classical’ instruments such as strings, woodwinds and brass with soul style vocals (Brackett, 2005). As Disco developed the music diverged into a style more closely related to funk and soul and the ‘Euro-Disco’ sound epitomised by a strong quarter-note pulse and the use of electronic instruments. Shapiro notes that while “the roots of disco lay in the rhythmic regimentation of mid-seventies soul records . . the arrival of the drum machine and cheap synthesizers later in the decade inexorably changed the groove from funky to martial” (2000b; p. 41).

One of the most significant artists of this period was Donna Summer whose work with producer Giorgio Moroder on the seventeen-minute odyssey Love to Love You Baby (1975) and I Feel Love (1977) redefined the sound of dance music. Like Kraftwerk before him, Moroder abandoned the use of real instruments and performers in lieu of synthesizers, drum machines and computers (Collin, 1998), creating I Feel Love entirely from synthetic instrumentation. Prendergast suggests that “with its emphasis on Minimalism, repetition, ersatz drama and synthetic rhythms . . the music of Donna Summer and Giorgio Moroder is perceived as a cornerstone of House and Techno” (2000; p. 374).

As Disco gained popularity, record companies began to understand the role a DJ could play in creating ‘crossover’ hits between the dance and pop music markets. Responding to this perceived marketing niche, RCA records distributed the world’s first extended 12” single, Calhoun’s Dance Dance Dance (1975) as a promotional item to club DJs. The extended single had a massive impact on the development of dance music as the one song per side 12” format “allowed for wider grooves, so that bass and percussion sounds were deeper and overall tones were richer” (Straw, 2001; p. 167). The 12” also made it possible for the length of

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songs to be extended, making for longer instrumental breaks at the beginning and end of a single that could be used to more easily blend one record into another. Collin (1998) records that “the 12-inch single . . . was revolutionary not only because it sounded so physically devastating over huge speakers, but it gave dance music a new dynamic: both length and depth” (p. 13).

In order to exploit this new dynamic, record companies hired DJs specifically to create club mixes of popular songs that would take advantage of the 12” format. In an interesting case of synchronicity, Dub techniques such as instrumental dropouts, echo and the use of concrète sounds made their way into dance remixes via Jamaican immigrants who had come to New York during the early seventies (Shapiro, 2000b). Along with the celebrity status of club DJs, the 12” single and remix led to the DJ becoming a central figure in dance music, and DJs “who began as remixers often realised they might almost as easily produced their own tracks” (Straw, 2001; p. 168). Interestingly, as the 12” has gained prominence the language used to describe new music has moved away from ‘records’ towards ‘tracks’, signalling the heightened importance of individual compositions over albums.

At the epicentre of the development of Hip-Hop and Disco, New York figures prominently in the historical narrative of popular electronic music as the birthplace of the DJ mixer and the 12” single. The influence of Disco would be felt far beyond New York's boroughs, birthing a new style of electronic dance music that would impact throughout the world.

House & Garage – Disco’s twins

As disco was taking off in New York, aspiring DJ Frankie Knuckles was offered a job at Chicago’s Warehouse, a dance club styled after those in New York. As in New York, the Warehouse had a predominantly homosexual African-American patronage that had developed a penchant for the use of psychedelic drugs in conjunction with all-night dancing. Rietveld (1997) suggests that, “for a group of mainly urban African-American youths, who wanted to transcend the oppressing boundaries of a racist, homophobic and sexist world, these parties and clubs were a haven” (p. 129).

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Taking up the role of resident DJ at the Warehouse from 1977 to 1983, Knuckles introduced the sound of Euro-Disco to thousands of enthusiastic revellers (Prendergast, 2000). In an attempt to recreate the ‘electronic’ feel of tracks like Donna Summers’ Love to Love You, Knuckles spliced segments of Disco records together on reel-to-reel tape along with a four-to-the-floor beat played on an electronic drum machine, and incorporated the results into his DJ mixes. According to Rietveld (1997), Knuckles would use his drum machines and reel- to-reel tape to “totally re-edit a song” (p. 126) creating remixes, strongly reminiscent of Dubs, that were unique to the Warehouse. This combination of sounds was foundational to the development of style of electronic dance music known as House; purportedly earning its moniker “after people kept asking record stores for ‘the record they played at the Warehouse’” (Eshun, 2000a; p. 75).

In 1983, Knuckles left the Warehouse and opened his own club the Power Plant, placing him in direct competition with his previous employers. At around the same time the Warehouse was renamed the Music Box and Knuckles residency was taken over by Californian DJ Ron Hardy who, following Knuckles lead “whipped his audiences up to levels of frenzy with deck mixes tied to Roland rhythm boxes” (Prendergast, 2000; p. 379). A strong rivalry developed between the two DJs for audience members that developed into each DJ trying to outdo the other. In yet another strong echo of the Jamaican Sound-System scene, this led Knuckles and Hardy to introduce sound effects and mixing trickery into their performances as well as locally produced ‘tracks’, “so named because they were little more than a drum track” (Eshun, 2000a; p. 75). Rietveld notes that these ‘tracks’ were little more than,

. . tools for DJ’s [and that] there was hardly any song structure to them . . a rhythm track generated on a drum-machine, a simple yet powerful bass line, some keyboards based on Latin American rhythms (mainly salsa) and, when released commercially perhaps the addition of a sparse gospel-based vocal. (1997; p. 30)

These ‘tracks’ would be brought to the DJs on cassette or reel-to-reel tape due to the exorbitant cost of vinyl pressing. This trade in unreleased music has led to some confusion as to what constitutes the first House track. However, it appears that the first commercially available record was Jesse Saunders’ On and On (1983) released on Trax Records (Rietveld, 1997), although Knuckles is said to have played unreleased tracks by Jamie Principal that were purportedly played Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 86

from tape prior to Saunders’ release. In either case Chicago soon saw a boom in locally-produced House tracks released on “roughly pressed, crackling 12-inches on Chicago’s two main independent labels, Trax and DJ International” (Collin, 1998; p. 20).

Initially titled ‘jack-tracks’ in reference to the jerky, twitchy dance move that accompanied the music (Eshun, 2000a), the sound of early Chicago House records was minimal and stark. In effect, House is a pared-down sped-up version of the Euro-Disco from which the genre had developed16. Though retaining the wailing Disco vocals, House dispensed with human musicianship almost altogether. Subsequently the producer rather than the band or singer became the focus of House’s fan base. Reynolds (1998) suggests that House is “the culmination of an unwritten (because unwriteable) history of black dance pop . . determined not by sacred cow auteurs but by producers, session musicians and engineers” (p. 21). While running against the grain of prevailing trends in popular music where the performer and performance are more important, the heightened importance of the producer and focus on individual tracks instead of albums became the norm for Electronica. Intriguingly this parallels the role of composers and compositions in the Western Art music tradition in which the composer or work is often revered equally or greater than the performer. This is a side concern however, and the comparison becomes unviable as the producer recedes into the shadow of the DJ and track.

House took the four-to-the-floor drumbeat present in Disco and used it as a rhythmic foundation over which “a seemingly unlimited number of other musical and non-musical elements could be laid” (Straw, 2001; p. 171). Describing the music, Fulford-Jones notes that early tracks

. . featured little more than a repetitive 4/4 rhythm track from a drum machine, built around a relentless bass drum on the beat and a hi-hat cymbal on the off-beats. House also used a similarly simplistic synthesized and often monochordal bass line, and frequently included a vocal line along with primitive, synthesized orchestration that echoed the string arrangements found on disco records. (2005c; online)

16 A typical Chicago House track runs at 122-126 bpm (Fulford Jones, 2005d). Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 87

Many House tracks are inherently modular and the process of composition is audible in the addition and subtraction of various elements. Sherburne (2005) suggests this style of composition mirrors ‘classic’ minimalism in that “it grew to emphasize not a minimum of material but a minimum of form, often on a horizontal level . . which did not so much progress . . as a mass” (p. 324). Though bearing some similarities to Reich’s notion of music as a gradual process in which the process of composition is audible (1968), there is nothing to suggest that this is the result of direct or indirect influence by Reich on early House producers. Moreover, there exists an equally plausible historical precedent for this style of composition in the Dub tradition, particularly as Dub techniques were already present in some Disco remixes. Another possibility is that this mode of composition resulted from the limited functionality of the electronic devices House producers used. Drum machines such as Roland’s TR-909, sequencers, samplers, DAW software and the turntable itself, all encouraged users to work with 16-step programmes and loops that could be turned on and off at the push of a button or drop of a record needle.

Sherburne (2005) argues that these technologies “facilitate the production of minimalistic constructions as opposed to more song-bases structures [and that in this respect, Electronica is almost literally] hard wired for minimalism” (p. 322). Speaking more broadly, Holmes (2002) indicates that “the very nature of electronic music instruments, old and new, encourages a composer to think in terms of a process” (p. 251). This suggests an important caveat in that musical practices, which at face value support claims of an experimentalist influence on Electronica, may in fact be pointing simply to a congruent musical methodology. As Goodwin warns,

Scholars accustomed to listening to Laurie Anderson, Philip Glass and even Talking Heads run the danger of greatly overestimating their impact in pop culture, and - most importantly - the crucial elements of cultural capital that attach to them. (1998; p. 407)

A flow-on effect from House’s use of a constant four-to-the-floor pulse was to allow DJs to create “long stretches of unbroken music, often lasting several hours” (Straw, 2001, p. 172) with little to no variation in the underpinning rhythmic structure. Partygoers at clubs like the Music Box could literally dance all night to the same beat. Reynolds (1998) identifies the creation of these mega- Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 88

mixes, as well as the use of purely electronic instrumentation and the recurring four-to-the-floor disco pulse as key to the Chicago House sound. Illicit drug use was an intrinsic part of this culture of all-night dancing. Patrons of clubs like the Warehouse and Music Box regularly “smoked pot, sniffed poppers . . and snorted cocaine” (Ibid; p. 17) as well as using the hallucinogens LSD and PCP to enhance their club experience.

Chicago was not the sole bastion of House music however and as the epicentre of Disco, New York was a logical receptor for new electronic dance music. Where the mechanistic ‘jack track’ was central to the Chicago movement, in New York a more sonorous and sensuous form of House developed around 1981 known variously as Deep House or Garage (Eshun, 2000a). Just as the Warehouse was central to Chicago House, New York’s Paradise Garage became the epicentre of Garage’s development, even lending its name to the music (Prendergast, 2000). Garage owes its origins as much to the R&B and Soul/Gospel traditions as Disco, “combining Philly’s silky symphonic strings and mellifluous vocals with gospel’s imagery of salvation and succour” (Reynolds, 1998; p. 22). As with Chicago House, Garage utilises Disco’s quarter note pulse and relies on primarily electronic instrumentation. Early Garage, such as D-Train’s You’re the One for Me (1981) and Peech Boy’s Don’t Make Me Wait (1982), is distinct however in that it is slower than Chicago House, generally 115–120 bpm, contains a strong melodic and harmonic component not found in the rhythmic Chicago tracks and is often built around a female soul vocal (Fulford-Jones, 2005d). In this regard, Garage records often follow a more traditional song structure than Chicago tracks but add an extra layer of rhythmic interest through the use of off-beat chordal stabs used to create “a push-pull notion [and] intricate crosshatching of beats” (Eshun, 2000a; p. 84).

Aiming for an international audience, Chicago labels Trax and DJ International began releasing the output of Chicago artists in Europe and UK in 1986. Though taking close to a year, House achieved its first international hit with Farley ‘Jackmaster Funk’ Williams’ Love Can’t Turn Around (1986). A cover version of an Isaac Hayes tune, Love Can’t Turn Around reached number 10 on the UK charts when it also was released, spending months as a club favourite before achieving a number one chart position in January 1987 (Cheeseman, 2003). Throughout 1988-89 House music achieved genuine popularity throughout Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 89

Europe, becoming an institution in the mainly ‘white’ heterosexual club world in Europe, especially in England, Holland, Germany, Belgium and Italy (Rietveld, 1997).

At around the same time that House was reaching an international audience in Europe and the UK, Chicago House producers Larry Sherman and Luke Jefferson, under the moniker Phuture, began using the Roland TB-303 bass line generator in their tracks, beginning with Acid Tracks (1987). Named because the 303’s “weird squirting and plopping sci-fi noises” (Prendergast, 2000, p. 380) reminded Jefferson of 60s psychedelic music or acid-rock, Acid Tracks “created such mayhem when it was first played at the Music Box that everyone thought the club’s water supply had been spiked with LSD” (Eshun, 2000a; p. 76). Difficult to describe but instantly recognisable, the squelching resonant bass lines created by the 303 became the defining component of a sub-genre of House music known as Acid House. Initially referring to Chicago House tracks which utilised the 303 to generate bass lines, the term Acid House is now commonly used to describe tracks that “derive their central motif from the 303, the only device capable of making ‘authentic’ acid sounds” (Shapiro, 2000a; p. 216).

Acid House was responsible for an explosion in popularity of electronic dance music in the UK from 1987–88 and a key catalyst in 90s Rave music and culture. Due perhaps to a misunderstanding of the Acid tag or the ‘druggy’ sound of the TB-303, Acid House was seen as “a perfect complement for the increasingly popular [though still developing] Rave movement” (Sicko, 1999; p. 105) notorious for its association with the drug Ecstasy (MDMA). Prendergast (2000) suggests that the “instrumental, repetitive and lengthy nature [of House] was the best musical prescription for a mind high on Ecstasy” (p. 380).

Exposed to significant creative requisition on behalf of UK and European producers, House and Garage generated several new sub-genres throughout the 1980s, including Trance, Ambient House and Deep Garage. Each has its own particular musical distinctives, club culture and distribution networks enabled by “the growth and fragmentation of dance music culture’ (Straw, 2001; p. 172).17 In

17 It is beyond the scope of this dissertation to refer to these in any depth however and so where a fuller understanding of these forms is required, discussion will be restricted to Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 90

1989, a series of House records were released that made prominent use of the types of breakbeats previously found in Hip-Hop. These records had a massive impact on the UK dance scene, so much so that UK producers began breakbeats, rather than the traditional Disco pulse as the rhythmic foundation for their own brand of House. Collin (1998) notes that “Britons were now remixing the very essence of [H]ouse” (p. 246), and in so doing co-opted the genre and transformed it into a uniquely UK sound dubbed Hardcore.

Detroit Techno

As Chicago is to House so Detroit is to Techno. America’s motor city served as an incubator for a parallel, though distinct, development in electronic dance music. As a musical form, Techno developed out of the work of a trio of producers, Juan Atkins, Derrick May and Kevin Saunderson, known as the Belleville Three. Though the history of Techno is not limited to the work these three artists, they were the initiators and leading proponents of the style and provide a useful focal point for this discussion.

As with many House producers, Atkins and May along with a friend Eddie Fowlkes began their musical careers in the early 1980s, DJ-ing under the name Deep Space Soundworks. The trio labelled themselves as ‘progressive’ and, in a similar approach to concurrent Chicago DJs, played predominantly Euro Disco tied to programmed drum machines and synthesizers (Garrat, 1998). Where House developed within an existing (Disco) club culture however, the Detroit dance music scene was cultivated through an extensive circuit of (largely African American) private dance parties and local radio DJs. Sicko (1999) notes “as in a lot of other cities, the radio served as a great equalizer – bringing music that was formerly the province of select crowds . . to wider acceptance” (p. 87). Reynolds, (1998) along with most other commentators makes particular reference to the Chicago radio DJ Charles Johnson – The Electrifying Mojo, who would play an eclectic mix of Euro-Disco, Funk, Electro, synth-pop and New Wave music encompassing Kraftwerk, Donna Summers, Parliament-Funkadelic, Prince, Afrika Bambaataa and the B-52s.

the ways in which these sub-genres significantly differ from House and Garage’s basic forms. Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 91

Drawing inspiration from the music played on Detroit radio and his experience DJ-ing for parties Juan Atkins formed Cybotron with Vietnam veteran Richard Davies and began releasing original electronic music starting with Alleys of Your Mind (1981). Citing science fiction author Alvin Toffler as an influence, Atkins and Davies developed a new lexicon to describe the music they were creating called the Grid. It was out of the Grid that the term Techno, itself borrowed directly from Toffler, emerged as a title for a Cybotron track Techno City (1984) (Rubin, 2000). Utilising drum machines and sequencers alongside guitars, Cybotron’s music was inherently experimental in its use of music technology and a desire to create something new. Describing his music, Atkins said that “you gotta look at it like, techno is technological. It's an attitude to making music that sounds futuristic: something that hasn't been done before” (cited in Savage, 1993; online).

After Cybotron disbanded in 1985, Atkins began releasing music under the moniker Model 500 on his own label Metroplex. No UFOs (1985), Atkins first release utilised completely electronic instrumentation and was faster and sparser, mirroring similar developments in Chicago. Atkins has suggested that the release of No UFO’s actually predates Jesse Saunder’s On and On by a couple of weeks (cited in Reynolds, 1998). This is unlikely however given that, as note previously, On and On was first released independently in 1983. Following Atkins lead, Eddie Fowlkes, Derrick May and Kevin Saunderson pooled equipment with Atkins and recorded tracks of their own – Goodbye Kiss, Let’s Go and Triangle of Love – for release on Metroplex. Shortly afterwards, May and Saunderson split with Metroplex and began releasing material on their own labels, Transmat (May) and KMS (Saunderson) (Ibid).

Between 1986 and 1992, May, Atkins and Saunderson released a string of successful and highly influential recordings under a baffling array of pseudonyms including Model 500 (Atkins), Rhythim Is Rhythim, Mayday, X-Ray, R-Tyme (May), Reese, Kreem, and Inner City (Saunderson). These multiple monikers appear to have been used in order to make it seem like the Detroit scene was larger than it really was. Combined with the Detroit producer’s use of blank packaging for their releases however, these aliases helped engender an “aesthetic of anonymity” (Rubin, 2000; p. 116) that has become a mainstay of Electronica. Reynolds (1998) notes that, unlike rock music where individual artists and albums Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 92

have tended to act as musical currency, in much Electronica “the 12-inch single is what counts, there’s little brand loyalty to artist, and DJs are more of a focal point for fans than the faceless, anonymous producers” (p. xv). This aesthetic of anonymity worked so well that Atkins, May and Saunderson, all African American, were commonly perceived as white. May laments the fact that this has meant that Techno, in America at least has become a music for generally white audiences stating that “nobody has a black audience except for the r n' b and rap crowd. I long for a black audience to hear my music. It hurts me to believe that black people are not down. Because I'm black” (cited in Marcus, 1997a; online).

The sound of the ‘first-wave’ Detroit records owes an obvious debt to the concurrent development of Chicago House. Each of the Belleville Three spent time in Chicago, first as punters and then as producers aiming to get their own music played in Chicago clubs. Kevin Saunders has stated that the Chicago scene was “an inspiration for us. Especially once we started making records” (cited in Reynolds, 1998, p. 14), and similarly, Derrick May recalls:

Before I really started making music I got baptised by Ron Hardy. The way he played music and the way people responded to him . . when I had the chance, man, I followed that vision of those people and that club and of the things I've seen in other clubs, Ken's club, Frankie's club. (cited in Marcus, 1997a; online)

Chicago also exerted an economic pull over the Detroit producers, partly due to the 1986 collapse of the Detroit party scene, but also to the opportunities afforded by an expanding market among radio and club DJs. Juan Atkins notes that “since there were no new records coming through [Chicago DJs] were looking to fill the gap with whatever they could find” (cited in Reynolds, 1998; p. 13).

The close ties between Techno and House meant that when British audiences became interested in the music coming out of Chicago, the work of Atkins, May and Saunderson was also picked up for distribution. In order to distinguish the material coming out of Detroit in the UK market, Neil Rushton branded the music Techno. The term came into popular usage after Kevin Saunderson scored a UK with Big Fun, released in 1988 on the British compilation Techno!: The New Dance Sound of Detroit (Savage, 1993). Despite this. it would be a misunderstanding to view Techno as simply a genre or even progeny of the House sound. Rather than an update on Euro-Disco, Techno’s pedigree is often described

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as an amalgamation of funk and the music of Kraftwerk, somewhat owing to Derrick May’s often cited explanation of Techno as “like George Clinton [front man of Parliament / Funkadelic] and Kraftwerk stuck in an elevator with only a sequencer to keep them occupied” (cited in Reynolds, 1998; p. 3). David Buckley (2005b) has suggested that 1977’s Trans-Europe Express “codified what would later develop into techno” (online). Sicko (1999) argues however that “while . . Kraftwerk had a far-reaching effect on electronic music as a whole, this simplification ignores Techno’s complex range of influences” (pp. 26–27), including funk, Hip-Hop and New Wave musics.

Rubin (2000) suggests that the influence of funk music is of particular importance in differentiating Techno from House, stating that “where Chicago’s sound was heavily reliant on disco, the Motor City remained steeped in funk, albeit accelerated to heretofore unexplored beats per minute” (p. 116). Similarly Hip- Hop and Electro have both left their mark, “one signature trick used in Detroit techno is simply editing a reversed segment or ‘bar’ of music, mimicking [Hip- Hop] DJ backspins and ‘rewinds’” (Sicko, 1999; p. 85). Finally, Gilbert and Pearson (1999) suggest that the use of string and piano samples, a key component of Derrick May’s sound, is drawn from European New Wave, Synth Pop and “their attendant neo-classical musical traditions” (p. 75).

As with House music, Techno’s composition process appears to be modular and is achieved through the addition and subtraction of various mix elements. Describing his own work, Derrick May has said that “80% of all my songs have always started with strings . . I start and from there I just build” (cited in Marcus, 1997a, online). Interestingly, where the rhythm track was the focus of House in Techno (or at least in Derrick May’s music) the drums are subservient to other elements of the piece. May has said “the last thing I do is add the drums. Too many people use drums as a pièce de résistance to their music. That's dumb. Drums are an accent. That's it. You should be able to make a track and not even use drums” (Ibid).

Though retaining the quarter-note pulse and approximate tempo of House music, Techno tracks made use of more syncopated drum programming, inherited from funk drumming and Hip-Hop’s use of breakbeats, and tended towards instrumental, rather than vocal tracks, although Saunderson’s Inner City releases

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did feature strong vocal hooks and more traditional song-based forms (Fulford- Jones, 2005e; online). Bass lines were often simplified, de-emphasised or absent, as in Derrick May’s most famous piece Strings of Life (1987). Fulford-Jones describes the style as:

Relatively simple in structure and tempo . . it was in 4/4, with a pounding bass-drum effect often driving through the music. It was more relentlessly percussive and artificial than the contemporary house [sic] music . . Beyond the rhythm track and bass line, instrumentation was basic and invariably electronic, a minimalist approach that owed as much to Kraftwerk as to other concurrent dance music. (Ibid; online)

Fulford-Jones’ use of the term ‘minimalist’ is interesting, particularly given the focus of this research, because it is theoretically possible to draw a line of influence from the minimalist composers to Detroit via Kraftwerk. However there is no available evidence suggesting that Atkins, May or Saunderson were in any way conscious of the minimalist composers, and the use of the term to describe electronic dance music generally refers to sonic depiction rather than historical affiliation. As Sherburne (2004) notes, in relation to Techno and other electronic dance musics, “the very idea of minimalism has lost much of its specificity as variations on reductionist themes . . have evolved into a staggering array of styles” (p. 324).

After chart success in the UK and tours to Europe, Detroit Techno coalesced into a club scene proper when the Music Institute opened in 1988, providing a place for local material to be played and local DJs to develop their skills. When the club closed a year and a half later the Detroit scene imploded as its key proponents where lured away by lucrative international DJ slots (Rubin, 2000). Finding fertile ground in the UK and Europe, the Detroit sound was quickly co-opted by a drug-fuelled club scene and helped influence producers in the UK and Europe to create “hard-edged instrumental dance” (Garrat, 1998; p. 264). Gilbert and Pearson note that

Techno joined house in inspiring and invigorating the popular musics of Europe in a way that was unheard over the past twenty-five years. It proved massively popular in the UK and Europe, . . . as such producers as Joey Beltram [whose tracks Energy Flash and Mentasm were hugely influential] and Jeff Mills toughened its timbres and drove tempos even faster. (1999; p. 75)

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These new forms of Techno, released on labels such as Berlin’s Teutonic Beats and Belgium’s R&S (infamous for releasing Joey Beltram’s Mentasm in 1991) became increasingly popular than the Detroit originals and the music was sold back to America in 1991 (Peel, 2005b). That year Across America Rave events were held amid developing electronic dance music scenes in New York, Dallas, Los Angeles and San Francisco, beginning “techno’s ironic existence as an import in the country that had supplied the music in the first place” (Sicko, 1999; p. 117). While May, Atkins and Saunderson each achieved a level of celebrity as DJs and producers, the music being produced internationally moved further away from the Detroit sound. Derrick May was particularly ambivalent towards the druggy hedonism and sped up tempos that techno became associated with, stating that

Unfortunately most of these kids will never understand what the music was all about or what it could be about. And unfortunately the DJs - not all of them - who play the music should be ashamed of . . [People] dance at their parties but could they actually take one of those records they're playing now and play it in five years time and somebody actually remember what it sounded like? . . the kids take a pill to feel the funk and the DJ takes a pill to feel the funk. I don't take a pill to feel the funk. (cited in Marcus, 1997b; online)

A “semiformal progression” ( Sicko, 1999; p. 85) had emerged for Detroit DJs to be promoted to full fledged artists and producers through editing and transferring tape to vinyl and remixing and drum programming for more established acts. This laid the groundwork for the ‘second-wave’ of Detroit Techno. This new generation of producers, such as Carl Craig, Richie Hawtin, Plus 8 and the militaristic Underground Resistance took the music in new directions. These second-wave artists approach to Techno was filtered through the lens of the UK and European scenes resulting in “a harsh Detroit hardcore that paralleled the brutalism of Rave music in Britain, Belgium, Holland and Germany [displacing] the string-swept romanticism of [Derrick May’s] Rythim Is Rythim . . in favour of riffs, industrial textures and a dystopian bleakness” (Reynolds, 1998; p. 204).

Post second-wave, Detroit producers branched out into a number of different directions including combinations of Techno and jazz, which have led to collaborations with ‘live’ musicians and a retreat towards more classic song forms. Sicko (1999) notes some interesting parallels between the two musics in that “both originated with African American artists, both faced early resistance Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 96

from U.S. audiences and travelled to Europe for greater acceptance, and both became popularised (some might say watered down) by white artists” (p. 198). At the same time the development of a style described as ‘minimal techno’, “took the repetitive tropes of machine funk . . and cut away everything but the grinding rhythms” (Sherburne, 2004; p. 321). Stripped back to a jack-track-esque rhythmic skeleton, ‘minimal’ techno “has survived by shedding characteristics rather than collecting them” (Sicko, 1999; p. 199). It is unlikely that ‘minimal’ techno references the minimalist composers in anything but name as it is more likely a reaction to the excesses of UK and European dance music forms. Minimal Techno “offered an alternate, and even polemical, position for aesthetes in search of a more refined brand of ‘intelligent dance music18’” (Sherburne, 2004; p. 322). The “popularity of techno and its iconography of the machine” (Gilbert & Pearson, 1999; p. 76) were deeply influential and, though often unacknowledged, Detroit Techno looms large in the family tree of Electronica’s experimental fringe.

Raving, I’m raving!! – The UK sound

Electronic dance music in the UK progressed in a very different fashion from in America. Unlike Chicago, Detroit and New York, there was no ‘indigenous’ electronic dance music scene in the UK. Clubs relied, initially at least, on imported and re-released records. As House, Techno and Garage were assimilated into UK club culture in the early 1990s, two important developments occurred – the massive all-night dance parties known as Raves and a new dance music style called Hardcore. It is important at this point to distinguish between the use of the term Rave as a musical description and musical event. ‘Rave’ does not describe, as the Grove Music Online suggests, “a sub-genre of dance music in the UK from the early 1990s, derived from acid house. It consists of simplistic, anthem-like electronic melodies over very high tempo, electronic techno backing” (Peel, 2005c; online). Rather, a Rave can be best described as a large, often illegal, dance party held in one-off venues such as warehouses or open fields. Raves often take place all-night or in some cases across several days, and revellers, in many cases chemically affected, dance to a continuous flow of music provided by a

18 In normal usage, the phrase ‘intelligent dance music’ (IDM) refers to a particular form of electronic dance music made, paradoxically, for contemplative listening. It is argued later that, IDM displays strong congruencies with the experimental music tradition. Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 97

series of DJs (Cox & Warner, 2005). The music played at a Rave would typically include House, Techno, Garage and other forms of Electronica. Consequently, the use of the term Rave as a musical description is not a genre-specific tag but refers to music that is played at Raves. Despite this, a number of sub-genres of Electronica have developed out of the Rave scene including Hardcore, Drum ‘n Bass / Jungle, Trance, Trip-Hop and IDM. The specific form alluded to in the Grove Music Online appears to be Hardcore, an indigenous UK form of electronic dance music. This assumption is due to references to “Altern 8, Praga Khan and the Prodigy” (Peel, 2005c, online), all identified by Simon Reynolds (1998) as belonging to the Hardcore genre.

House and Techno arrived in the UK club scene in 1986-87 via the releases on the Trax and DJ International labels. Instrumental in the reception of these records were the new so-called ‘Balearic’ clubs such as Shoom, The Project, Spectrum and Future opening in London in 1987 / 88 (Reynolds, 1998). These clubs styled themselves after the dance culture on the popular tourist island of Ibiza, where the arrival of imported House records from Chicago in 1986 coincided with the widespread use of the drug MDMA, also known as Ecstasy (Sicko, 1999).

The effects of Ecstasy vary from person to person, but generally include an increased level of alertness, feelings of euphoria and a mild hallucinogenic effect due to an increase in dopamine and serotonin in the brain. Users often also experience a sense of empathy with others and an increased awareness of touch, light and sound (Saunders, 1994b). Within the context of a Rave, Ecstasy serves to create an artificial sense of intimacy among participants and a heightened the experience of music. Describing his own experiences with Ecstasy, Reynolds (1998) notes “all music sounds better on E – crisper and more distinct, but also engulfing in its immediacy” (p. xxv).

The use of Ecstasy as a recreational drug dates back to 1984 where, then a legal substance, it was used widely among students in the US and was even available at bars in some areas of Texas. Ecstasy in the US was banned in 1985 and ultimately classified as a Schedule 1 drug in the same class as Heroin (Saunders, 1994a; online). In Ibiza, Ecstasy was combined with House and Techno music which Champion (1997) suggests provided “the ideal soundtrack” (p. 113) to an Ecstasy trip. The emphasis on texture and timbre and repetitive nature of House and

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Techno help to bring on ecstatic ‘rushes’ in listeners, and these effects, though “unintended by their original creators [have] gradually evolved into a self- conscious science of intensifying MDMA’s sensations” (Reynolds, 1998; p. xxvi).

The Balearic clubs fostered an environment of drug use and all-night dancing coupled with electronic music and the use of lighting special effects that proved immensely popular. So much so that, as Gilbert and Pearson note, “‘Dance culture’ and ‘Ecstasy culture’ have become virtually synonymous terms in the United Kingdom today” (1999; p. 138). Clubs such as Shoom traded on the euphoric and empathic emotional effects of Ecstasy promoting an environment of “love-and-peace-and-unity [that] was supposed to be the death-knell of clubland’s snobbish exclusivity” (Reynolds, 1998; p. 40). Combined with a resurgence of the New Age movement and a prevalent association of Rave culture with 60s psychedelia, this led to the summer of 1988 being dubbed the ‘Second Summer of Love’ (Prendergast, 2000).

Along with the explosion of Acid House in the UK in 1987/88 and a burgeoning network of pirate radio stations (Cheeseman, 2003), the Balearic clubs helped solidify a dance music culture based around fashion (baggy in order to alleviate sweat from dancing), electronic dance music and the use of Ecstasy. Savage (1993) notes that “this drug-derived subculture has become the single largest fashion in England and across the continent” (online). As the popularity of Acid House and Ecstasy increased, dance parties began expanding outside of the London area clubs into farms, fields and other large open spaces. Largely illegal events, these ‘Raves’ tended to be around the M25 Orbital motorway that encircles London, with the exact location often revealed only at the last moment to avoid being shut down by the police. The first of these, ‘Midsummer Nights Dream’, was held on the 24th of June 1989 and attracted a record 11,000 partygoers to an Aircraft Hanger (Reynolds, 1998), a record that was smashed three years later by the six day Castlemorton Rave which drew between 25 and 40 thousand people (Wright, 1994). As Raves increased in size, the movement reached a critical mass and in 1990 the British government passed into legislation a private members bill followed by the Criminal Justice Act of 1994 which “in effect prohibited the Ravers’ mass gatherings” (Sicko, 1999; p. 120).

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The Rave scene achieved more long-lasting success and development throughout Europe and became a truly worldwide phenomenon throughout the mid-to-late 1990s. Raves radically challenged traditional notions of the roles of the performer and audience. Neill argues that,

in this type of event, the artists are not the center of attention; instead it is the role of the artist to channel the energy of the crowd and create the proper backdrop for their social interaction. The audience truly becomes the performance. (2002; p. 389)

This view appears to be supported in accounts by Rave participants. Garrat, for example, documents a warehouse party at which, in the changeover period between DJs “the crowd bashed bottles and cans on the walls and floors, clapped, stamped and chanted to keep the beat going and carried on dancing to the music they were making themselves” (1998; p. 123). Similarly Reynolds (1998) states, “where ‘serious’ dance mags like Mixmag and Muzik frame the DJs as auteurs and cult figures, and barely mention the crowd in their live reviews, the Rave-mags treat the audience as the star” (p. 167).

Without wanting to downplay the importance of the Balearic clubs in the history of Raves, a common misconception, as voiced by Nicholas Saunders in his book E is for Ecstasy (1994a), is that “the Rave scene started on the hippy holiday island of Ibiza in 1987, where Ecstasy joined LSD and hashish at all-night dance parties [which later] took the form of large outdoor and warehouse parties [in England]” (p. 79). In fact, the Rave movement in the UK drew on two important existing dance cultures: Northern Soul’s all-night drug fuelled parties and fetishist obsession with imported American music, particularly from Detroit; and local Sound-System operators and promoters who organised massive illegal dance parties in abandoned warehouses throughout the early 1970s and 1980s.

In an almost direct parallel to the Rave movement in the UK, the Northern Soul movement was built around a culture of all-night or all-day club events at which white ‘Mod’ audiences would dance to Soul and R&B records released by labels such as Detroit’s Motown and Chicago’s Chess Records. Northern Soul dances were held throughout the 70s in Manchester, Blackpool and London’s West End but were made up of a mainly white audience. Noting the similarities between electronic dance music and Northern Soul, Reynolds writes that “Northern Soul was all about up-tempo Black American music and popping pills so you could

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dance till dawn; it revolved around name DJs, obscure tracks, and long-distance journeys to clubs that were worshipped as temples” (1998; p. 55). The city of Detroit figured significantly in the Northern Soul movement and record collectors sought after everything released by Motown and other ‘rare-groove’ records bordering on a fetishist zeal, paying vast sums of money for rare and original records (Milestone, 1997).19 The impact of the Northern Soul scene can be traced through the move from import records to locally produced ‘blue eyed soul’ and ‘mod’ bands such as the Who, the Jam and the Small Faces to UK New Wave and indie-rock music of bands like the Smiths and New Order. Some Northern Soul DJs even wound up at clubs such as Manchester’s Hacienda (partly owned by New Order), where New Wave audiences were turned onto “a more experimental and innovative edge to dance music” (Milestone, 1997; p. 163).

In the 1980s, the city of Manchester saw a unique fusion between the new Rave dance music and UK indie-rock “where bands like the Happy Mondays, the Stone Roses, and the Onsprial Carpets took on some of the textures and / or lifestyle of acid house, dubbing their movement and the city ‘Madchester’” (Sicko, 1999; p. 110–111). The Madchester scene was integral in the rise of bands such as the Happy Mondays and Stone Roses who applied the repetitive beats of acid house to a New Wave rock aesthetic. La Monte Young’s associate John Cale produced the Happy Monday’s album Squirrel and G-Man Twenty Four Hour Party People Plastic Face Carnt Smile (White Out) (1987), further cementing the link between the minimalist tradition and popular culture. Manchester was also home to one of the first UK based dance acts proper, 808 State, whose 1988 House / Techno track ‘Voodoo Ray’ was remixed by Frankie Knuckles (Prendergast, 2000).

Where Northern Soul parties where attended by a predominantly, and at times exclusionary, white audience, a parallel dance culture was developing among black British youth. By the turn of the 1980s, Jamaican style Sound-System crews such as Shock and Soul II Soul began holding parties in abandoned warehouses, driven by the “rising costs of real estate and a backlash against the elitism of big- city nightclubs” (Straw, 2001; p. 172). As well as Reggae, these sound systems played Soul, Funk and Hip-Hop records and Garrat notes “when house music

19 As a side note, Neil Rushton, the music entrepreneur who introduced Detroit Techno to the UK, was heavily involved in the Northern Soul scene and became interested in Techno records initially because of their place of origin (Reynolds, 1998). Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 101

came along in 1986, it was seen as just another music to be added to the mix” (1998; p. 79). As happened with the Balearic clubs the introduction of House came hand in hand with Ecstasy, and the music and chemical were quickly assimilated into the warehouse parties. This resulted in a number of ‘free-parties’ such as 1988’s Hedonism, inspired by New York’s Paradise Garage, which explicitly brought together all-night dancing to house music in a warehouse setting in which Ecstasy was freely imbibed (Garrat, 1998). Hedonism, and other events, such as Dirtbox and the Warehouse, suggests that when clubs like Shoom, Spectrum and The Trip began taking over open spaces such as farms and warehouses in the late 80s, they were simply plugging in to an existing culture which had roots in Jamaica as early as the 1960s.

Following the pattern templated in Jamaica, New York and Chicago, the emergence of an indigenous UK electronic dance music was born out of a desire for unique material among DJs to distinguish themselves from their competitors. Though still primarily an import culture, by 1987 the wider availability of import records and compilations of rare tracks meant “if DJs wanted something exclusive to play then they’d have to make it themselves” (Garrat, 1998; p. 83). Taking cues from Dub, Hip-Hop, Techno and House, UK producers utilised samplers, drum machines and turntables to create pastiche reproductions of the sounds emanating from America. Early attempts tended towards either imitation of the popular Acid House records coming from Chicago at the time20 or Hip-Hop style cut-up (re)mixes which combined samples lifted directly from popular records. Collin notes that

The turntable scratch mixes of Hip-Hop DJs and the drum-machine formula of the first Chicago house records pointed the way to a cheap low-tech methodology which nonetheless sounded revolutionary. The way music could new be composed on a four- track recorder, assembled from samples and beatboxes [drum machines], then cut to a white label 12-inch single and sold through independent dance record stores, was a democratisations of the creative process. (1998; p. 59)

Just as in Detroit, the ease with which these records where created and the availability of an independent distribution system resulted in the establishment of

20 A sound that would later re-emerge as ‘Trance’ circa 1992, comprised of “at least three 303 bass-pulses . . Moroder-style Doppler effects, sequencer-riffs, and tier upon tier of percussion” (Reynolds, 1998; p. 184). Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 102

a DIY dance music production industry. A DJ could press a 12” single and sell it through independent dance record stores. UKs Sheffield became the first hub of this type of industry. Beginning with Unique 3’s 1989 record The Theme, Sheffield became the epicentre for a new style known as Bleep and Bass, so called because of the use of spare musique concrète style percussive elements and multiple layered bass lines resulting in bass-heavy, vocal-less, “sparse and industrial sounding [mixes]” (Garrat, 1998, p. 264). Though labelled ‘Northern House’ the style owes more to the Kraftwerk-influenced minimal beats of Electro and the bass-heavy sound of Reggae than either House or Techno genres. Co- founder of Sheffield’s Warp label Steve Beckett suggests Bleep and Bass developed in the context of Northern England Sound-Systems where “they’d play reggae, then Hip-Hop, then these bleep-and-bass tunes . . and they’d be toasting on top of it” (cited in Reynolds, 1998; p. 99).

The confluence of Reggae and Hip-Hop produced an unexpected Rave anthem in the form of East End duo Shut Up and Dance’s 5678 (1989). A UK Hip-Hop act who performed regularly at east London sound system parties, Shut Up and Dance created 5678 by speeding up the breakbeats found on American Hip-Hop records creating “a more edgy, aggressive feel that embodied east London’s panorama of struggle and deprivation” (Collin, 1998; p. 246). Although a number of US dance records, such as Frankie Bones Bonesbreaks (1988) had previously experimented with the use of breakbeats in House music, the sound never really took off and breakbeats remained the domain of Hip-Hop. From late 1989 however, UK producers began replacing the programmed Disco pulse of House and Techno with breakbeats sampled from Hip-Hop, jazz and rare-groove records popularised by Northern Soul “driven by an urge to make the drums more percussive and the bass more physical than they had ever been before” (Sharp, 2000; p. 135).

The popularity of this music appears to be due to an anyone-can-do-it approach that required only a sampler, turntable and sequencer to release a record “with no need for drum machines or synthesizers” (Reynolds, 1998; p. 105). This notion is supported by Garrat who maintains that many early tracks were crude affairs “made on cheap synths and home computers by sampling original techno and house over breakbeats and [by] adding Dub-style breakdowns and nutty oscillating riffs” (1998; p. 266). Shapiro suggests that the misappropriation of musical material was par-for-the-course noting that “Shut Up and Dance stole Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 103

beats from Suzanne Vega and Def Jam records, while 4 Hero’s ‘Mr. Kirk’s Nightmare’ took a snippet from the Isley Brother’s b-boy classic ‘Get Into Something’” (2000c; p. 153). This approach to sampled material extended to ‘borrowing’ ideas from concurrent producers and that,

. . when anyone came up with a new idea, it was instantly ripped off a hundred times. Inspired errors and random rucking about produced new riffs and noises, ‘mutations’ that entered the dance floor eco-system and were then inscribed in the music’s DNA- code. (Reynolds, 1998; p. 127)

Labelled Hardcore, the combination of Techno and House with breakbeats became the dominant form of dance music at Raves between 1990 and 1992 and impacted heavily on the UK dance charts. Collin notes that

. . the biggest hits were The Prodigy’s Charly, which featured a sample of a mewling cat from a 1970s public information broadcast over crushing polyrhythms, Sesame’s Treet by Smart Es, a novelty record that set the theme from the American children’s show to a hardcore beat, and Altern-8’s Activ-8, its comical, druggy refrain recited by a three-year-old. (1998; p. 251)

Throughout the rest of Europe, a parallel Techno sound had developed which incorporated heavy metal-influenced synth riffs and distorted noise. 1991’s Mentasm is perfect exemplar of this style driven by the now infamous ‘Mentasm’ sound derived from the Alpha Juno synthesizer. This hard-edged sound would intensify as the 90s went on and tempos of European tracks became increasingly aggressive, fast (greater than 150 bpm) and Dionysian, reflecting a penchant by club goers for amphetamine cut Ecstasy and a general dystopic vibe among the scene. As European Techno and the Second Wave Detroit producers began making an impact on Hardcore, their ideas were simply appropriated and added to the mix, pushing tempos faster and deploying “riff-like ‘stabs’ and bursts of blaring noise” (Reynolds, 1998; p. 97).

The resulting Gabba (and later derivatives Happy-Core, Bouncy-Techno and Happy-Hardcore) was most popular in Scotland and Northern Europe and surfaced in 1994–95 with tracks such as Euromaster’s Amsterdam Waar Lecht Dat Dan? (translated as Amsterdam, Where the Fuck Are You? for the international release), Annihilators I’ll Show You My Gun and Sperminators No Woman Allowed. Key to the Gabba sound was the abandonment of the breakbeat Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 104

and reappropriated four-to-the-floor disco pulse; heavily distorted and accelerated to “such a punishing rate of velocity [180–300 BPM and beyond] . . it becomes a drilling noise that kind of pummels your head and drills through your cortex” (Eshun, 2000b; p. 155). Gilbert and Pearson note that the music “rarely possesses anything discernible in the way of melody or rhythmic variation [and that the] angry, adrenaline-testosterone textures are pressed into the service of pure linearity, speed without content, direction without aim” (1999; p. 95). Reynolds (1998) suggests that the emergence of the militaristic, overtly masculine and aggressive Gabba sound has to do with the effect of excessive long term Ecstasy use. As the body becomes accustomed to Ecstasy the psychological effect of the drug becomes more like amphetamine. Reynolds argues that “as Ecstasy’s androgynizing powers began to fade, so there was a gradual remasculation of Rave culture, and a militarisation of the music and imagery . . the tempo rose dramatically to match the overdriven metabolisms of a new generation of speedfreaks (Ibid; p. 258).

Jungle / Drum ’n Bass

By the time Hardcore had became established in the UK, the distinct sounds of Techno and House had become enmeshed and any clear line of influence becomes lost in a maelstrom of music and ideas. This eventually resulted in a schism within UK dance music that saw Hardcore cross over into pop mainstream, spawning superstar groups like The Prodigy at the same time as it escalated into the visceral audio assault of Gabba. Collin notes that:

It wasn’t long before the scene cleaved in two, leaving the predominantly white Ravers with their pills, their white gloves, face masks and lightsticks, and a music full of cheery piano riffs, preposterous samples and vocal shrills – named, almost in [261] defiance, happy hardcore – which bathed in nostalgia for the euphoria of 1991 and shamelessly celebrated the pure state of Ecstasy; weekender hedonism taken to the borders of oblivion. (1998; pp. 261–262)

Hardcore’s acceleration into Gabba also birthed a sibling musical form that, equally repelled by the sounds of pop-dance hits, developed in a completely different direction. Between 1992 and 1993 a slew of Hardcore 12” singles were released featuring video game samples, “horror movie samples, evil noises,

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queasy sound effects and metallic breakbeats” (Ibid; pp. 255–256) introduced this new direction Dubbed Dark-Side or Dark-Core.

Crucial to the Dark-Core sound was the inexpensive Akai S-1000 sampler, released in 1989. Drawing strong parallels with musique concrète-style tape manipulation, the S1000 enabled Dark-Core producers to easily pitch shift, time stretch, and reverse selected samples drastically altering their timbre. Playing on this, Dark-Core tracks would often layer several treated and sped up breakbeats on top of each other to create dense polyrhythmic percussion that served equally as rhythm and texture (Reynolds, 1998). Moving beyond Hardcore’s relatively simple approach to looping breakbeats Dark-Core producers, led by Rob Haigh (Omni Trio), discovered that the S-1000 could be used to construct new breakbeats from discrete samples (Sharp, 2000). This development made possible the creation of increasingly intricate rhythms limited only by the skill of the producer. Any existing beat or group of samples could be cut up and rearranged, combined with other sounds and then further manipulated to create an almost endless range of completely new sounds and rhythms. Neill suggests that

Just as composers in earlier historical periods often worked within a given set of large- scale formal parameters . . innovative pop electronic composers use steady pulse, loop-based structures and 4/4 time as a vehicle for a wide range of compositional ideas and innovations. Shifts of tempo, subdivision, sonic manipulation and complex quantization structures are making beat science the new jazz of the 21st century. (2002; p. 388)

Despite Neill’s over-enthusiastic endorsement this so-called beat science radically skewed the Dark-Core sound until it became unrecognisable, shifting the emphasis away form Hardcore’s collage-like production approach towards the textural qualities produced by the combination of particular samples. Reynolds argues that in this regard the music,

. . parallels the preoccupations of avant-classical composers like John Cage and Steve Reich, who drew inspiration from the treasure-trove of chiming timbres generated by Indonesian gamelan percussion orchestras. Jungle fulfils the prophesy in Cage’s ‘Goal: New Music, New Dance’ of a future form of electronic music made by and for dancers. ‘What we can’t do ourselves will be done by machines and electrical instruments which we will invent,’ wrote Cage, seemingly predicting the sampler and sequencer. (1998; p. 242) Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 106

While these observations appear valid, there is no available evidence to suggest that producers such as Omni Trio or Dead Dred were conscious of any imitation or homage to the experimental music tradition. The similarities Reynolds observes are more likely due to the influence of the S-1000 sampler rather than any familiarity with the music of Cage, Varèse and others within the experimental music tradition. Furthermore, Reynolds observations appear to stray awfully close to what Gilbert and Pearson critique as a Eurocentric modernist musical discourse that “turn[s] a dance form into an ‘art’ music” by incorrectly re-reading it “as an exercise in modernist avant-gardism” (1999; p. 80). Though it is important to note however that these comments are made with the disclaimer:

This is not to say that producers themselves were not instrumental in this process, negotiating their newly-acquired status as artists and the cachet it afforded them – nor does it suggest that its audiences have not been aware of the music’s implied avant- gardism. (Ibid; p. 80)

Another important element of this new sound was the role of bass in solidifying the move away from Hardcore. Given the complexity and speed of the breaks being created with the help of the S-1000, bass lines tended to run at half the tempo of the rest of the track and played a strong melodic role (Sicko, 1999). The sound of these bass lines was similar to the ‘sub-bass’ of Bleep and Bass records that is felt as much as heard and has a ‘liquid’ timbre. Both the feel and sound of these bass lines also owed heavily to the influence of Dub Reggae and Ragga (or Ragamuffin), a contemporary form of Reggae produced with digital instrumentation (Barrow & Dalton, 2001). Though a similar sound can also be found in the Kevin Saunderson track Just Want Another Chance (1986), the use of samples from Jamaican records and other Dub style effects such as gunshots suggest a stronger Jamaican influence. As Collin (1998) notes that common practices such as the use of exclusive ‘Dub plates’ (acetate 12” records), MC toasting and the creation of multiple versions or remixes from the same source “were adapted directly from Reggae sound system traditions” (p. 263). Within this context, the following comments from Wikipedia serve to further illuminate affect of Jamaican sounds on the emerging style:

As the influences of Reggae and Dub became more prominent . . [the music] began to take on an urban sound that was heavily influenced by ragga and dancehall music as

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well as Hip-Hop, often incorporating the distinctive vocals and MC chants of these styles of music. (2006, online)

The foregrounding of complex sped up programmed breaks and half speed sub- bass cemented a highly distinctive sonic identity termed Jungle and / or Drum ‘n Bass reflecting “both the cumulative history of electronic dance music and its unexplored possibilities” (Sicko, 1999; p. 190).

There appears to be significant confusion regarding the differences between these two terms and in particular whether they refer to separate or identical musical forms. Gilbert and Pearson for example suggest that “the name ‘jungle’ – whose connotations had never been popular with some of its practitioners – [was] . . . dropped in favour of the neutral formalism of the tag ‘drum ‘n’ bass’” (1999; p. 79). Conversely, Fullford-Jones argues that Drum ‘n Bass developed out of Jungle and that

. . the predominant rhythms of the original ‘hard jungle’ music were, in turn, the driving influence behind drum ’n’ bass, which on the surface sounds extremely similar . . drum ’n’ bass is in fact a slightly less frenetic music still using complicated syncopated rhythms, but with a greater reliance on melody and an increased use of non-diatonic chordal washes similar to those found in some ambient techno music. (2005b; online)

Despite these musical distinctives, there is still significant debate as to appropriate lexical terminology. However it would appear that such distinctions that do exist between the two ‘genres’ are not significant enough to bear closer examination for the purposes of this research. Both forms are built around the use of sped-up breakbeats, and half time bass lines and share so many similarities that it is difficult to draw genre markings or stylistic distinctions in any meaningful way to the uninitiated listener. Any attempt to do so is further complicated by the perverse sense of sub-classification present in electronic dance music and a certain train-spotter mentality mixed with neo-tribalist appropriation of music. Sicko (1999) explains that there are almost as many Drum’n’Bass subcategories as there are Drum’n’Bass records, “raising ire among many of its original producers . . as if a superfluous lexicon is choking the very life of Britain’s most interesting musical export” (Sicko, 1999; p. 180). Actual usage of the terms would appear to concur with the Wikipedia article on Drum ‘n Bass which suggests that

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Probably the widest held viewpoint is that the terms are simply synonymous and interchangeable: drum and bass is jungle, and jungle is drum and bass – although many drum and bass or jungle fans will debate this belief. (2006; online)

Subsequently, for the purposes of the identification of key traits to be employed in this dissertation, Jungle and Drum ‘n Bass will be treated as closely related if not interchangeable, terms while acknowledging that musical distinctions probably do exist.

The culture surrounding Jungle / Drum ‘n Bass was significantly different to that of the Balearic and Rave scenes. As Jungle became more popular it “plugged back into the Hip-Hop attitude that had inspired hardcore in the first place” (Sharp, 2000; p. 146). Clubs nights like Rage, with in house celebrity DJs Fabio and Grooverider, attracted an audience largely alienated by the Balearic clubs and Rave events. While acknowledging that the producers and audiences for Jungle were multi-cultural, Collin argues that “jungle spoke to a black British identity. Jungle Raves began to attract a black inner-city crowd who might have been interested in Hip-Hop or ragga, but would never have considered going to a house club” (1998; p. 258). Reynolds goes so far as to suggest Jungle articulated a distinct (black) urban culture that was “Britain’s very own equivalent to (as opposed to imitation of) US Hip-Hop” (1998; p. 245). In contrast Ferrigno (2008) suggests that Jungle / Drum and Bass audiences represented a disenfranchised inner-city populous unified by factors that were “political and economic rather than racial” (p. 4). Regardless of its raison d’être the segregation of Jungle from concurrent forms of Electronica engendered a kind of persecution mentality and a fiercely independent attitude towards the production and dissemination of new music. Perhaps the most prominent example of this is the plethora (perhaps armada) of pirate radio stations broadcasting the latest Jungle tracks illegally from London’s tower-blocks in the early 1990s. Successful Pirate DJ’s were constantly one step ahead of their competition and two steps ahead of the law replicating the dub-plate economy of 1970s Jamaica and updating the Sound-System with a decentralised form of sonic-reproduction. The drugs associated with Jungle / Drum ‘n Bass were also different and the substance of choice was not Ecstasy but Marijuana and / or Cocaine which Prendergast suggests was the perfect accompaniment to Jungles fragmented beats and Dub bass lines (2000).

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In 1998 Goldie’s Timeless and Reprazent’s New Forms introduced Jungle / Drum ‘n Bass to a mainstream audience through massive commercial success and critical acclaim (Fulford-Jones, 2005b). The intrinsically recombinant nature of Jungle / Drum ‘n Bass induced a series of hybridisations resulting in an increasingly diverse list of subgenres. Tech-Step, for example, coupled Jungle with the industrial ‘Hoover’ sound of Belgian Hardcore, while Speed Garage reverted to a four-to-the-floor rhythmic simplicity while retaining Jungle’s Dub- style bass lines and level of textural complexity (Sharp, 2000). This period also bore witness to the phenomenon of ‘intelligent’ Drum ‘n Bass which paid lip service to ‘traditional’ notions of musicianship. To this end, many producers utilised the ‘authentic’ sounds of analogue synthesizers, jazz samples and ‘real’ instruments and singers (Reynolds, 1998). While the genre proved unsuccessful among club audiences, it appealed strongly to certain music critics and a ‘home- listening’ audience (Rubin, 2000). Far from an isolated quirk of the Jungle scene, the notion of ‘intelligence’ in dance music was becoming an increasingly popular one that served “to delineate a firm border between the discerning few and the undiscriminating mass” (Reynolds, 1998; p. 157).

IDM, ambience and experimentalism

In 1992, Sheffield’s Bleep and Bass label Warp released a compilation album titled Artificial Intelligence that introduced the notion of Electronic Listening Music or IDM (Intelligent Dance Music) to a dance party / Rave audience. Containing tracks by artists such as The Orb and the Dice Man, the first Artificial Intelligence release is notable for the cover, featuring a marijuana-smoking robot, implying an association with ‘concept’ albums such as Kraftwerk’s Autobahn and Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of The Moon (Savage, 1993). The album reflects a developing schism between an increasingly populist dance music scene and a growing body of disenfranchised ‘purists’ for whom the ritual of clubbing, illicit- drugs and come-downs was, apparently, of secondary concern to ‘the music’. Commenting on the Artificial Intelligence album, Gilbert and Pearson observe that,

The discourses around the movement which ensued appeared to remove techno from the dancefloor and back into the mainstream of the metaphysical tradition; musics to listen to, musics to sit still to, electronic avant-garde music by and for (although not exclusively) white middle-class men. Such unfortunately titled labels as ‘intelligent Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 110

techno’ signalled the removal of these musics form the zone of the body towards those of the intellect and ‘art’. (1999; p. 76)

The very notion of ‘intelligence’ as a defining feature of electronic music has been much maligned due to the implication that other forms of electronic music were somehow inferior and ‘unintelligent’. Reynolds sees the distinction as social as well as musical, informed by a “perennial class-based divide in British pop culture” (Reynolds, 1998; p. 175), noting that a very different crowd would turn up to a hardcore Rave and chill out party. In contrast to the sample-heavy Hardcore sound, IDM involved a nostalgic return to the sounds of early Detroit Techno and Chicago House, practitioners favouring the use of analogue synthesizers such as the Roland TR-909 drum machine and TB-303 ‘acid’ bass generator due to a perceived ‘warmth, musicality and ‘authenticity’ engendered by such machines. Where sampling was used it “was governed by an ethos of masking and warping sources, in explicit opposition to the recognizable quotes and lifts that characterized ‘ardkore’s cut-up approach” (Reynolds, 1998; p. 157).

Splitting with most previous electronic dance music forms IDM promoted the creation and reception of album based works, rather than 12” singles, which were intended to create a sustained immersive sonic environment. Though driven in part by the financial benefits of album sales (as opposed to singles), in this regard, IDM,

. . involved a full-scale retreat from the most radically posthuman and hedonistically functional aspects of Rave music towards more traditional ideas about creativity, namely the auteur theory of the solitary genius who humanizes technology rather than subordinates himself to the drug-tech interface. (Reynolds, 1998; p. 157)

A central narrative running throughout IDM is that of Ambient Music, a term first coined by producer/composer Brian Eno in the 1970s to describe environmental music (distinct from Muzak) that is designed to enhance acoustic spaces by creating a particular mood and/or atmosphere. Within the context of contemporary electronic dance music, Eno’s ideal of Ambient music inducing calm and creating space to think, appears to have found a perfect venue. Eno himself stating that, “I was always very confident this is one of the ways [Ambient] music would go” (cited in McCormick, 1995; online). However he also saw limitations with this chill out music stating:

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A lot of music now doesn't really have an independent existence separate from the places it's played in. For instance, a lot of rave music and Ambient and trance and so on has very much to do with clubs and lots of people being together and so on. It's very context-linked. (cited in Kelly, 1995; online)

Since 1992, Ambient music has seen a resurgence in popularity thanks to Electronic Listening Music / IDM, and has become a part of contemporary Rave / dance party culture through use in ‘chill out’ rooms and as a soundtrack to the post-party comedown. IDM was seen as an antidote to the increasing speed and intensity of electronic dance music and was designed to be played at low volume, fulfilling the functional role of ‘chill out’ music which could be played at the end of a night of dancing and drug taking or in special chill out rooms or zones adjacent to the dance floors of large clubs. In documenting this phenomenon Gilbert and Pearson observe:

In these spaces, set aside for clubbers physically and mentally exhausted by dancing and drug-consumption to rest, smoke, talk and calm down, DJs like Alex Patterson and Mixmaster Morris wove soothing soundscapes, bathing the listener in a wash of sounds, electronic and ethnic, old and new . . its primary function being to soothe and calm listeners under the influence of MDMA and LSD, enhancing and accentuating their more regressive effects. (1999; p. 94)

Early IDM records consisted of mainly diatonic harmony, minimal (sparse) beats, snatches of repeated melodic material, textural washes of textural ‘atmospheres’ and long sustained drones and cluster chords, sonically similar in this regard to the minimalism of LaMonte Young. One common technique involved “the ‘cellular’ construction of complex tapestries of sound by the repetition and interweaving of simple melodic [or sonic] units” (Reynolds, 1998; p. 181), in a fashion remarkably similar to that of minimalist systems-music. As the genre developed, it took on the trappings of ‘audio art’ incorporating

. . many elements of art music: experimental live performance techniques . . conceptual and process oriented composition . . collage . . performance art and theatrical spectacle . . and the extensive use of experimental software and hardware [that] can be seen turning up in clubs and on dance records around the world. (Neill, 2002; p. 388)

Supporting this observation, David Toop notes that producers such as Robin

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Rimbaud (Scanner) or DJ Spooky, citing experimental composers such as John Cage, have achieved recognition for creating works that explore “issues of spatial and environmental articulation or the physics of sound using media that included sound sculptures, performance and site-specific installations” (Toop, 2005; online). Cascone describes the emergence of these composers (the Clever Children of this dissertation) as follows:

At some point in the early 1990s, Techno music settled into a predictable, formulaic genre serving a more or less aesthetically homogenous market of DJs and dance music aficionados. Concomitant with this development was the rise of a periphery of DJs and producers eager to expand the music’s tendrils into new areas . . Always trying to outdo one another, it was only a matter of time until DJs unearthed the history of electronic music . . Once the door was opened to exploring the history of electronic music, invoking its more notable composers came into vogue. A handful of DJs and composers of Electronica were suddenly familiar with the work of Karlheinz Stockhausen, Morton Subotnick, and John Cage (2000; p. 395).

Summary of key musical and conceptual traits

Broadly then, this is the musical and historical context in which the Clever Children exist. The history of Electronica encompasses a large number of styles across more than two decades throughout which it is possible to identify a number of recurring musical and conceptual traits. These traits represent necessarily broad strokes, painting many artists and genres with the same brush. This is unavoidable due to the sheer size of the subject area, the limitations of this dissertation and the lack of definitive scholarship in the field. Traits identified herein may not be present in every work of Electronica or consistently in the work of a particular artist, but should be understood as broad trends within a continually evolving musical tradition.

Beginning with Dub, Disco and Hip-Hop, the development of Electronica is tied intimately to the adoption and use of electronic sound sources and treatments. In each instance this is accompanied by the use of repetition as a structural device and extended musical form, driven by market forces influenced by a demand for dance music. As genres such as House, Garage and Techno emerged, the use of repetition was accompanied by a pairing down of musical content resulting in the predominance of rhythm and timbre and a dramatically reduced, often static, harmonic palette. These central concerns of Electronica are congruent with similar Meet The Parents – The Experimental Music Tradition 113

concerns as identified in the experimental music tradition. In fact, most of the key traits identified as relating to Electronica are analogous with traits present in the experimental music tradition. It is, of course, important to note that these similarities do not suggest that Electronica has been directly influenced by the experimental music tradition and may equally point to a fascinating confluence of musical ideas resulting from distinct parallel developments (this will be discussed in more detail below).

Due to the influence of recording technology such as samplers, synthesisers, sequencers and DAWs, composers of this music are now capable of complete manipulation of sonic material. Composers are now able to manipulate all values associated with a sound such as pitch, timbre, envelope, loudness and duration, and this is one of the most fundamental characteristics of contemporary experimental music. The ability to treat sound as a completely malleable substance has led some composers of Electronca to move away from ‘tonality’ in compositions towards the use of ‘noise’, non-pitched and non-rhythmic sounds (Holmes, 2002).

Electronica can thus be seen as fulfilling John Cage’s prophesy of “a music produced through the aid of electrical instruments which will make available for musical purposes any and all sounds that can be heard” (1958; pp. 3–4). Similarly, Holmes suggests that the emphasis on compositional process present in the experimental music tradition can also be seen in much Electronica, arguing that the very nature of electronic instruments is such that they actively encourage composers to think in terms of a process (Holmes, 2001). As was the case with the experimental music tradition, Electronica brings into question assumptions of the acts of composition, performance and realisation as well as the roles of the composer, performer and audience.

Works of Electronica are often realised without the need for a performer resulting in the elevated importance of the producer and, ultimately, leading to the assertion of the producer as auteur in IDM and other forms of post-Rave Electronica. Electronica’s re-evaluation of these roles can also be seen in the aesthetic of anonymity surrounding many genres and the resulting enshrinement of the DJ and, in some instances the audience, as the focal point of dance culture. Also relevant is the manner in which the turntable has become an instrument in its own

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right allowing DJs to perform with the works of other composers. Finally, the widespread use of recreational drugs, such as MDMA, and the re-imagining of the dance party as a massive multi-media event within Rave culture is congruent with the use of psychotropics, mutli-media performance and art happenings within the experimental music tradition.

With reference to the historical and musical developments of Electronica discussed above it is now possible to derive the following list of traits that will, along with the corresponding list relating to the experimental music tradition, inform the analytical framework applied to the Collective Case Study:

• Predominance of timbre and rhythm over melody and harmony • Re-evaluation of and challenge to traditional conceptions of the roles of composer, performer and audience • Re-evaluation of and challenge to traditional notions of the creation, realisation and reception of musical works • Emphasis on process based composition • Use of non-musical sound and noise • Use of Electronically generated, recorded and treated sound • Creation of multi-media works / events • Use of repetition as a structural device • Use of static harmony • Use of static / minimal instrumentation • Minimal harmonic and melodic content • Additive and subtractive compositional processes • Presence of a steady beat or pulse • Extended musical forms • Influence of psychotropic substances • Increased importance of the single, rather than album and accompanying aesthetic of anonymity • Producer as auteur • Influence of particular music technologies and devices, such as the TB- 303 • Influence of market forces and functionality related to dance music culture

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Elder siblings to the Clever Children, the artists and genres discussed here represent an important background to the works of the artists represented in the Collective Case Study and provide a valuable reference point for evaluating the claims of influence regarding experimental music tradition made by and on their behalf.

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Comparison of Key Musical and Conceptual Traits

In exploring the historical narratives surrounding the relationship of the Clever Children to the experimental music tradition and Electronica the purpose has been to develop a set of key traits from existing literature that will act as a reference against which the work of the Clever Children may be examined. A secondary objective has been to address the loss of history identified by Holmes (2002) and others by providing a survey of the historical narratives that exist in relation to the emergence of and influences on the Clever Children. The preceding discussion thus responds to the first sub-question identified in the Introduction: What are the key historical developments and key musical and conceptual traits of the experimental music tradition and Electronica identified in existing literature as precursive to or having influence on the Clever Children?

The various traits identified in the discussion of the experimental music tradition and Electronica, along with the accompanying historical narratives, provides a context in which to place the Collective Case Study, informing the analytical framework discussed in the Methodology. The key traits derived from the preceding discussion will now be examined to determine what similarities exist between the experimental music tradition and Electronica and whether these are the result of congruence, confluence and influence. Figure 2 (next page) plots the key traits present in the experimental music tradition, represented by the left yellow circle, and Electronica, the right red circle, along with overlapping traits between both traditions, represented by the central orange segment.

When the list of traits identified in the experimental music tradition is compared with those relating to Electronica, there is shown to be significant overlap between the two traditions. This suggests that some level of influence or confluence exists that is significantly pervasive and can be identified across chronological periods and genre boundaries. Given that works of the experimental tradition precede much Electronica by at least a decade it is unlikely that the similarities noted have resulted from some form of cross-pollination between the two traditions and so would appear to suggest some form of influence has taken place.

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Figure 2: Comparison of musical and conceptual traits in Experimental and Electronica

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This would appear to corroborate the claims relating to the influence of the experimental music tradition in the literature pertaining to the Clever Children21. The significance congruence between one of Reich’s minimalist pieces and an electronic dance track reasonably suggests that some musical relationship existed between the two, particularly as Reich (and others) makes exactly this association when he claims that composers of Electronica have appropriated his music (Abbot, 2002). However, there is an inherent danger in ascribing traits held in common between the two traditions to the influence of experimental composers. Historical precedence does not on its own however provide sufficient basis for identifying a line of influence between the experimental tradition and Electronica. When examined in more detail the commonalities that exist between the two traditions can be best described as congruencies resulting from parallel but distinct developments.

In most instances Electronica simply coincides with the experimental tradition in a manner that owes more to external factors rather than the result of direct or indirect influence. For example, many of the traits identified with minimalism that are also found in Electronica can be shown to relate more to market forces or financial incentives rather than the influence of the experimental music tradition. The manufacturer and design of the first widely available sequencers and drum machines together with the demand for high-output, low-production-cost dance music has been a feature of almost all Electronica. This has contributed to the outgrowth of ‘minimalist’ traits such as repetition as a structural device, static harmony and additive processes in much Electronica, beginning with the early proponents of Dub, Disco and Hip Hop. The use of repetition as a structural device and extended musical forms in Electronica resulted from a need to create extended mixes for dancing at outdoor parties and clubs. At one extreme this led to stark jack tracks, which, though bearing strong superficial similarities to ‘classic’ minimalism, were created to fill a functional need amongst DJs for simple mixing tools to enable stitching more complex tracks together in a mix. The presence of a steady beat or pulse, itself a hallmark of minimalism, can here be traced to Disco and the need for a constant pulse for dancing. Furthermore it is likely that both minimalism and Disco could ultimately be traced back to some

21 Cascone, 2000; Cox and Warner, 2004; Holmes, 2002; Martin, 2002; McClary, 2004; Neill, 2002; Prendergast, 1995; Toop, 1995 and others. Comparison of Key Musical and Conceptual Traits 119

common forerunner in American popular music or, further still, to the music of Africa.22 It would appear unlikely then that Electronica has been directly influenced by minimalism23 but that the strong similarities relate to a confluence of musical ideas driven strongly in the case of Electronica by utility and market forces.

Market forces can also be seen to have influenced the recycling of musical material in Dub Reggae and Hip-Hop and the use of electronic instrumentation in House, Garage and Techno. There was a high demand among club patrons for new music and it was significantly cheaper and less labour-intensive to produce new music with sampled or pre-recorded material and electronic sources than with ‘real’ musicians. The comparative affordability of devices such as samplers, drum machines and synthesizers led to their widespread adoption and this has had an undeniable impact on the way much Electronica is created. Such instruments are geared towards additive and audible processes and the compositional methodology suggested, or perhaps imposed, by these devices suggests that, as Sherburne writes, their design was “hard wired for minimalism” (2005; p. 322). While the use of the turntable in Electronica does not strictly conform to Sherburne’s observations, it is worth noting that its adoption was initially to facilitate the repetition of breakbeats at Hip-Hop block parties and would only later develop as an instrument in its own right in the hands of innovative Turntablists.

Despite the undeniable impact that such technology has had on Electronica and the experimental music tradition, the application of electronic sound sources and other forms of music technology in both traditions is properly understood as an influence held in common that does not evidence a causal relationship. Instead the use of electronic instrumentation in both traditions is related to the search for new sounds and vehicles of expression. In the context of Electronica this had significantly more to do with the widespread affordability of devices such as samplers, turntables and drum machines than the influence of Western Art music. The similarities that exist between the creative application of recording

22 Although such speculations are unfortunately outside the scope of this research. 23 At least not in the manner inferred by Cox and Warner (2004), Gordon (1998), McClary (1999) or Sherburne (2004). Comparison of Key Musical and Conceptual Traits 120

technology by Cage, Stockhausen and the pioneers of Dub – as suggested by Veal (2007) for example – cannot be reasonably seen as an attempt by Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry, King Tubby or Augustus Pablo to 'emulate' their forebears but is instead a function, in both instances, of advances in and adoption of music and recording technology. While this does not mean that the application of music technology is irrelevant to the study of the Clever Children (in fact the opposite is true) it is unlikely to be the result of direct influence by the experimental music tradition24. Consequently, though clear similarities exist and the application of music technology is an undeniably important element of almost all forms of Electronica I will not focus on the application of such technology as a way in which the Clever Children may have been influenced by the experimental music tradition,

Electronica, and particularly the Rave movement also precipitated a distinct re- evaluation of the roles of the composer, performer and audience: elevating the act of DJ-ing to one of performance; engendering an aesthetic of anonymity on the part of the composer / producer; and fostering performance environments in which the audience rather than the performer was the focal point. Though works within the experimental music tradition propose a similar series of re-evaluations key differences emerge in the reasons for such re-evaluations between the two traditions such that the outcomes are difficult to reconcile. Where the experimental tradition was driven by innovation on behalf of the composer, Electronica seems more influenced by the role of the audience. For example, while Cage sought to remove his ego from the creative process and become a participant observer with the audience, the anonymity of composers within Electronica was due to economic considerations, the use of white-label packaging and the increased importance of 12” singles over albums. Similarly the elevation of the importance of the audience in Electronica was influenced by its functional nature coupled with a prevalent drug culture in which Ecstasy and other psychoactive substance usage lead to feelings of closeness and connectedness between audience members. Interestingly these changes in Electronica appear once again influenced more by market forces and consumption trends rather than by the experimental music tradition.

24 While a case may be made for indirect influence by way of equipment design or function but this is outside the scope of the current enquiry. Comparison of Key Musical and Conceptual Traits 121

There are a number of other possible links that might help to explain the congruence between Electronica and the experimental music tradition. German electronic group Kraftwerk could be seen as one key link between the experimental music tradition and popular Electronica – in that they proved an important vehicle for the often-imperceptible influence on House, Techno, Hip- Hop, Electro, IDM and other popular electronic forms with ideas drawn from experimental music. Alternatively it may be that the popular music forms from which the experimental music tradition drew influence are also evidenced in the development of Electronica – Western Art music and popular music were not necessarily seen as diametrically opposed by their practitioners. The New York avant-garde scene of which composers such as La Monte Young were a part, also included popular musicians and artists. John Cale produced the Velvet Underground’s first album and many composers within the art music tradition have made in-roads with popular musicians, particularly those creating in the field of Electronica.

Despite this, those common elements that cannot be explained by market forces can largely be ascribed to other external or common influences in popular culture. Where the experimental composers were notable for their engagement with popular music, Electronica is popular music and so engagement with the idiom is hardly surprising. More interestingly, the influence of transcendental experience and, to a lesser extent the importance of rhythm and timbre in Electronica, is directly related to the effects of psychoactive substances. In this regard there exists an obvious parallel between Electronica, particularly the Balearic clubs and Rave scene and the psychedelic rock of the 1960s and 70s, and this parallel is further reinforced by the presence use of mixed media content in the performance of both psychedelic rock and Electronica. Given that some composers25 within the experimental tradition were themselves influenced by elements of psychedelic rock and 60s drug culture, the confluence between the two traditions here can be traced to the common influence of 60s counter culture and drug use.

Despite a lack of evidence for the broader influence of the experimental tradition upon Electronica, there have been occasional engagements and collaborations

25 Notably minimalist composers Terry Riley and La Monte Young. Comparison of Key Musical and Conceptual Traits 122

between musicians and composers from both traditions26. However such meetings appear more collaborative in nature, predicated on shared artistic interests rather than a vehicle for passing on any particular techniques or influences. Perhaps the experimental composers are in fact more akin to a proud uncle or family friend wishing to engage the talents of a prodigious child. This does not relegate the possibility of influence on specific musicians or composers but does preclude a broad influence on Electronica by the experimental music tradition.

The significant overlap between the two traditions is problematic in some ways, as a clearly delineated set of musical and aesthetic traits would have provided a better set evaluative of tools. However this overlap is also intriguing because it suggests that there is some form of pre-existing congruence between the two musical traditions. Subsequently it is reasonable to suggest that works within Electronica will demonstrate traits congruent with the experimental music tradition. The challenge will then be to sift through the overlapping areas of influence to discern the Clever Children’s musical heritage.

The following Collective Case Study will attempt to do just this by examining the musical and conceptual traits present in the work of three composers of Electronica who have been identified as having been influenced by the experimental music tradition. Each Case Study will therefore follow a similar outline, firstly identifying how the composer views their own work in relationship to the experimental music tradition. This will be followed by analysis of a particular work to identify areas of congruence with the experimental and contemporary electronic traditions. Each Case Study will then evaluate each composer’s relationship to the experimental music tradition and Electronica with reference to their stated aesthetic goals and the analysis of their musical works.

26 The Reich Remixed project is one such example and is examined in Case Study One. Comparison of Key Musical and Conceptual Traits 123

PART III: COLLECTIVE CASE STUDY

Case Study One:

Reich Remixed – Minimalism and DJ Culture

In 1999 Nonesuch records commissioned and released a CD containing selected works of ‘minimalist’ composer Steve Reich, remixed by prominent DJs. Reich Remixed was billed as an homage to the father of DJ / remix culture and the liner notes cite Reich as “the original re-mixer” and stating boldly “mass culture has finally caught up to and embraced the fringe ideas that Reich was exploring in the 1960s” (Gordon, 1998; p. 2). This is an association with which Reich is not uncomfortable, commenting on the DJ-as-remixer that “here's a generation that doesn't just like what I do, they appropriate it!” (cited in Abbot, 2002; p. 68).

The notion that minimalism in general, and Reich in particular, is responsible for influencing the development of Electronica is hardly a revolutionary one. As a movement, minimalism is notable for its engagement with American popular music, influenced by “the harmonic simplicity, steady pulse and rhythmic drive of jazz and rock-and-roll” (Schwarz, 1996; p. 10). Grove Music Online, itself only peripherally aware of Electronica, suggests that the minimalist composers “have had an important effect on a wide range of concert musics, rock and the panoply of post-modernist, hybrid forms which became a major feature of late 20th- century music” (Potter, 2005; online). What is being described by the panoply of post-modernist, hybrid forms is never clearly articulated. However, to even the most casual observer minimalist tendencies, in the form of repetition, static harmony and additive processes can be divined in a range of contemporary popular musics from New Wave and Krautrock to Hip-Hop and Techno. Journalist, critic and DJ Philip Sherburne notes that:

The origins of most contemporary electronic dance music . . . emphasized a pared- down palette that cut away all the excesses of a bloating rock and pop tradition. Since then, much dance-floor fare has restrained itself to a limited set of sounds and accumulation-through-repetition. (2005; p. 319)

How and in what capacity these musical confluences trace their origins to minimalism is more difficult to address. Are we to accept the assertion that “[Reich’s] music has filtered into the consciousness of our society, so much so that it has been copied and distilled into music now heard everywhere, much the Reich Remixed – Minimalism and DJ Culture 125

same way the patterns on your bathroom wall have been lifted from a Van Gogh” (Gordon, 1998; p. 2), or is it possible to identify a more direct line of influence from the “father of DJ culture” (Ibid; p. 2) to his children? This Case Study will seek to address this question by examining the remix of Eight Lines by Howie B in order to identify areas of comparison, contrast and influence between the work of Steve Reich and Howie B. The study will explore the Eight Lines remix as one example of the similarities, contrasts, confluences and lines of influence between the musical and aesthetic concerns of minimalism and Electronica. Responding to the specifics of the work under discussion this Case Study utilises elements of traditional musical analysis, a discussion of the use of samples and the application of sonic effects to the remix in conjunction with my own interview data supplemented by information gleaned from a literature survey of articles, reviews and interviews with and about Bernstein.

Eight Lines (Audio Example 1, Appendix E) was chosen as a focal point for this Case Study due to Howie B’s high profile as an artist. This means that unlike some of the lesser known artists who contributed to the album, there is a level of pre-existing literature about Howie B thus making a basic literature survey possible. DJ Spooky is a notable exception here, but his work is discussed elsewhere in this dissertation (at Case Study Three). It was also possible to make contact and secure an interview with Howie B through his agent, making him a more attractive subject for this research. Aside from these pragmatic concerns, Reich identifies the first four tracks on the Remixed album, Music for 18 Musicians by Coldcut, Eight Lines by Howie B, The Four Sections by Andrea Parker and Megamix by Tranquillity Bass, as his favourite remixes from the album (Abbot, 2002). While each of these tracks is interesting for their own reasons and would provide much fodder for an in-depth study, Reich singles out Eight Lines as being of particular interest, stating that “I think Howie B's Eight Lines is a very sophisticated job” (cited in Weidenbaum, 1999; online). Reich’s perception is that Howie B has engaged at a musical level with the source material in a way not present in the other remixes (Reich makes no similar comments about any of the other tracks) and by extension, that Howie B has in some way ‘understood’ his original piece suggests that if there is a case to be made for clear and direct musical influence it is to be found here.

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Howie B

Howard Bernstein (Howie B) has worked as an audio engineer, producer and composer most notably within the context of the UK electronic dance music scene of the late 1990s. Having no formal musical training, Bernstein began his career as a tea-boy in a studio (Reynolds, 1996) and has gone on to become a world- touring DJ, remixer and producer working with U2, Sly and Robbie, Massive Attack and Björk. Bernstein’s early output, some of which is collected on the Best Foot Forward (1995) compilation, includes elements of Dub, Jazz, Trip-Hop, Ambient House all of which heavily inform on the artists debut album Music for Babies (1996) and, to a lesser degree, follow-up Turn The Dark Off (1997).

While not atypical of Berstein’s output, Eight Lines Remix is best understood as an exceptional encounter with the work of Steve Reich precipitated by Bernstein’s engagement with the Reich Remixed album. Prior to this album there appears to be no implied musical relationship between Howie B and Steve Reich. Post-project however, there are several allusions to a Reichian / minimalist influence on Bernstein’s work and in particular his third, somewhat more abstract, studio album Snatch (1999) released in the same year. In a 1999 interview Howie B suggests that Reich “might have had some influence on my music but I wouldn’t say directly . . I listened to it and said ‘Wow I could have done that’ . . that must have had some influence” (cited in Prasad, 1999; online). When interviewed by telephone, Bernstein was more enthusiastic in embracing Reich’s influence:

HBa24: I think he’s a big influence, Steve in terms of . . I couldn’t put a finger on what it is. Definitely the guy has, I don’t know has had some influence on me and a lot of people I work with as well . . In terms of what he’s actually done and how it’s influenced me I don’t know but yes I listen to his music quite a lot and it’s added colour to my life which is great.

Bernstein does seem to have been influenced by Reich’s use of repetition and the composer’s notion of “a compositional process and a sounding music that are one and the same thing” (1968; pp. 9–10). At the very least Bernstein seems able to observe the cycling canons within Reich’s piece and apply them to his remix.

HBa22: When you actually listen to [Reich’s piece], there’s nothing complex at all about it. It’s just lots of things going round and round in cycles.

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It is interesting to observe however that Bernstein is unable to articulate exactly how this influence has affected his music. More interesting is the fact that Bernstein does not clearly articulate any tangible similarities or differences between Reich’s work and his own.

HBa4: No, I don’t, not very much; I don’t see any similarity. I think maybe there’s an attitude to space but . . nothing else.

HBa25: I’d say the main difference would be [our] attitude to recording. But then again I don’t know, I really don’t know what the main differences are.

To confuse things further, when asked whether he had attempted to emulate elements of Reich’s original piece Bernstein stated:

HBa6: Yes, I wouldn’t say emulate I would say, yes because emulate is an interesting word. I would say handshake . .

Bernstein seems to be presenting a paradoxical state of affairs whereby he is influenced by Reich in a ‘big’ way but he is not able or interested in identifying similarities or significant differences between Reich’s work and his own. This is unfortunate for the purposes of this research but understandable and probably has to do with Bernstein’s hesitance or genuine inability to spell out the specifics of how and by whom he has been influenced. After all, Bernstein’s remix does work directly with the material of Reich’s original piece and this would suggest that some very clear similarities do in fact exist. Furthermore, Electronica and minimalism hold several conceptual and musical traits in common and it would be reasonable to expect a similar sort of overlap in Bernstein’s own work.

Upon examining Bernstein’s material within the broader context of the experimental tradition there are, in fact, several identifiable similarities. As with the experimental composers, Bernstein sees the process of creation as more important than the outcome. Bernstein articulates a position strikingly similar to that of both Reich and Cage, stating that:

HBa10: It’s the content, not the end product, not the end thing that’s the most important thing. I mean; I guess it’s absolute process. And that’s what great about [this] music and puts it apart from anything else.

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However, as with his acknowledgement of Reich as an influence, he appears to find it difficult to articulate exactly what this means. When pressed it becomes apparent that Bernstein is not actually talking about musical processes at all, but about creating a ”good environment in the studio [created by] good food, great tea [probably a reference to marijuana] . . humour [and] good friends” (HBa9). Bernstein’s use of sampling technology is also strongly congruent with Cage’s theories predicting “a music produced through the aid of electrical instruments which will make available for musical purposes and all sounds that can be heard” (Cage, 1968; pp. 3–4). Central to Bernstein’s sampling aesthetic is the physical deconstruction and recontextualisation of sounds. Using the sampler, Bernstein will often alter his source material beyond recognition before placing it in an “environment, which it didn’t come from” (HBa17). Bernstein notes that

HBa16: I treat everything very heavily and I do that simply to make it my own . . it’s like building your a musical instrument, you dismantle something and then construct it again.

His comments appear to place him in some form of relationship to the experimental tradition. However it is important to note that, while not standard practice, this sort of use of sampling technology has precedence in the broader context of Electronica. That Bernstein does not reference these statements to Cage or any other experimental composer suggests that Bernstein’s influences lie elsewhere. Perhaps because of this, Bernstein does not view his music as experimental and, using language very similar to Edgard Varèse, explains that:

HBa12: I experiment all the time in the studio but it’s the result of the experiments people hear but they don’t hear the experimentation.

Making sense of the contrary nature of these comments is problematic. It may be that Bernstein may not have been called on to critically reflect on his own work before, or that he is simply not aware of Reich’s music or ideas to a degree that he can cogently reflect on them. Alternatively, as an untrained musician who speaks frequently about music as a ‘vibe’, Bernstein may simply be disinclined to expound on a composition process that is, for him, highly intuitive (Prasad, 1999). Most likely, however, is that Bernstein resists verbalising his exact motivations and ways of working. While not outwardly antagonistic or unhelpful, his answers to the research questions were at times terse and vague. Bernstein is more

Reich Remixed – Minimalism and DJ Culture 129

forthcoming in relation to the recording process and specifics of the remix. Subsequently, while there is some useful information to be gleaned from the composer’s responses, I will rely more heavily on the analysis of Bernstein’s Eight Lines Remix to discuss his relationship to Reich and the experimental music

Eight Lines Remix

The analysis of Bernstein’s remix will involve discussion of the ‘traditional’ elements of structure, rhythm, melody and harmony alongside the role of timbre, the use of samples and the application of sonic effects to the remix. Rather than a general exegesis of the remix, the purpose of this analysis is specifically to identify and highlight areas of similarity and difference between Reich and Bernstein’s work. Subsequently this analysis will focus on features of the remix where such discussion is relevant. Transcriptions and diagrammatic representations have been used where appropriate to illustrate and highlight various aspects of the remix. It is important to bear in mind that as Bernstein is not a trained musician it is unlikely he would have been thinking about bars, beats, key signatures or scores. Bernstein would not have necessarily been thinking or working within the typography of Western Art Music. Where possible the diagrams attempt to demonstrate features of the piece in the manner in which Bernstein is likely to have engaged with them, as loops and sequences rather than bars and beats. Some diagrams, such as the form chart, have been modelled after the ‘arrange’ style windows found in most contemporary DAW and sequencer software.

Structure

Bernstein’s remix is organised into six sections, differentiated by the use of particular groups of samples and sonic treatments. Figure 3 (next page) demonstrates the overall structure of the piece and details the instrumentation present in each section. The form of the piece is best described as A, B, C, A1, B1, A2 with significant similarities existing between sections A, A1, and A2 as well as B and B1.

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Figure 3: Plot of instrumentation against time of Eight Lines Remix

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By contrast Reich structured his piece in five sections describing them as follows:

The first and third resemble each other in their fast moving piano, cello, viola and bass clarinet figures, while the second and fourth sections resemble each other in their longer held tones in the cello. The fifth and final section combines these materials. (1989; p. i)

Revealingly, Bernstein claims to have not referenced his remix to Reich’s piece, instead relying on his own intuitive grasp of form and musical development, stating that:

HBa7: [the structure of the remix] was referenced to the lord above, not to Reich. It was mainly what sounded good to my ears.

Despite this assertion it is notable that Bernstein draws on source material primarily from sections 1, 3 and 4 of Reich’s score. Table 1 below identifies the samples from Eight Lines Bernstein used with the sections of Reich’s score they were taken from and the sections of the remix they were used in.

Remix A Remix B Remix C Remix A1 Remix B1 Remix A2

Eight Piano Loop 1 Piano Loop 1 Piano Loop 1 Lines Piano Loop 2 Piano Loop 2 Piano Loop 2 Section 1 String Loop 1 String Loop 1 String Loop 1 Clarinet Loop Clarinet Loop Clarinet Loop

Eight Lines Section 2

Eight Piano Loop 3 Piano Loop 3 Lines Piano Loop 4 Piano Loop 4 Section3 String Loop 2 String Loop 2 String Loop 3 String Loop 3 Piccolo Loop Piccolo Loop Eight Piano Loop 5 Lines String Loop 4 Section 4 Flute Clarinet Solo Fragment 1

Eight Clarinet Solo Lines fragment 2 Section 5

Table 1: Samples and their location in the remix

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Samples taken from within a single section generally occur concurrently and are referenced to the first occurrence in the case of looped material. It would be reasonable to assert that Bernstein has in fact taken significant cues from Reich composition when constructing his remix. The juxtaposition of the sampled piano and string parts in section A of the remix, for example, is immediately recognisable from the opening bars Reich’s piece. Though the structure of the remix does not directly reflect Reich’s score, the content and context of the samples used adhere quite closely to their original construction. Obviously this is not entirely unexpected however as Bernstein did undertake to remix Reich’s piece and a residual similarity to the original would be unavoidable.

The sections of the remix bear no clear durational relationship to one another. This is in contrast to Reich’s own careful, even meticulous, structuring of his own piece based on the careful juxtaposition of repeating melodic and rhythmic motives and gradual harmonic and rhythmic modulation. Instead Bernstein appears to rely on intuitive structures resulting in a piece that is evenly weighted either side of section C. This section is, on the surface, the most dramatically unlike Reich’s original. It contains the least amount of Reich’s source material, draws on two sections of Reich’s score for its samples (though only two notes are sampled from Section 5 of the original) and does not make use of strict repetition in the same was as the other sections of the remix. Though featuring recurring melodic material, the Clarinet ‘solo’, discussed below, does not repeat in the strict manner found in the remix’s other sections. Similarly, neither the Flute nor Tambourine feature the repetition of small motifs found elsewhere in the remix. Additionally, Section C downplays the role of the piano, the “rhythmic backbone” (Schwarz, 1981; p. 252) of Reich’s piece, which is used prominently in the remix’s other sections. Given its privileged position in the centre of the piece, it is plausible to suggest that Section C is the focal point of the remix and where Bernstein most clearly asserts his creative voice over Reich’s.

Though it could be argued the piece follows a modified rondo form (ABCABA rather than ABACABA) this would be a mistake, as the remix does not follow traditional notions of exposition, development and recapitulation. Bernstein revealed that when composing the piece he worked on each section independently of the others, building up layers of sounds.

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HBa2: What I did was, I chose different sections, and I gave each section a different name, and then I just went about filling up; making each section, for me, listenable to in a new way.

Where Reich utilises overlapping voices and melodic lines to obscure some section changes within his composition, the transition between sections of the remix are sonically distinct. Bernstein achieves this through the use of different groups of samples, different tonal centres and different timbres produced by electronic treatments of the sound sources. That said, the individual sections of the remix are largely static due to Bernstein’s limited use of harmonic and melodic material as well as his use of looped sections of audio. This does not mean that the piece does not ‘develop’ over time, but that the developments that do occur primarily constitute additions and subtractions of parts, changes in timbre and rhythm, and the interplay of the different audio loops used in the piece.

This is directly in keeping with the minimalist tradition’s approaches to form and musical development, and in fact with Reich’s compositional approach. The use of repetition, static harmony and vertical movement through the addition and subtraction of instruments inducing overall timbral shifts, are all compositional techniques found in Reich’s Eight Lines. Further, the construction of the piece through the addition and subtraction of looped materials serves to engender a sense of the sounding-processes referred to by Reich (1968) in Music as a Gradual Process. Though not equivalent to the gradual audible changes present in Reich’s original, the simple additive and subtractive processes by which Bernstien’s remix of Eight Lines progresses should be clearly audible to all but the most casual listener. Conversely, these similarities could also be attributed to stylistic traits within electronic dance music and the application of music technology at large. As discussed previously, the use of sampling and sequencing technologies encourages a composition process where a series of audio loops are layered on top of one another and changes are brought about by the addition and subtraction of new material.

Instrumentation and the use of samples

Reich’s original work was scored for two pianos, a string quartet, clarinets, bass clarinets, flutes and piccolo orchestrated in such a way that no more than eight instruments where performing concurrently (hence the title Eight Lines). Of these

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Bernstein retains only the pianos, clarinets, flute piccolo and violins. The piano is an obvious inclusion as it functions as the leading voice in Reich’s score but there seems to be no systematic approach to Bernstein’s choice of instrumentation.

“I just chose what I liked” Bernstein states, “it was just pure taste . . there was no objectivity at all” (HBa3). Alternatively, the small repertoire of samples may have to do with difficulties in obtaining the sort of metronomic pulse present in much minimalist and electronic music:

HBa2: As what happens with classical music – there was no strict timing . . the tempo was I would say was not rock solid, so that . . made [the remix] more difficult.

In addition to the instrumentation taken from Reich’s piece, Bernstein adds several percussion parts and a series of samples taken from an unnamed Broadway musical chosen for their ‘kitsch’ value. The programmed percussion comprises Bernstein’s primary additions of new musical material to the remix provide a sense of cohesion between the different sections of the remix. According to Bernstein, the percussion instruments are derived from electronic sources, either drum machines or synthesisers, and the remix was sequenced utilising a (somewhat antiquated) Atari 1040, most likely using the now defunct Intuitive Midi System software sequencer (HBa19).

It is notable that, while sampling quite creatively, Bernstein doesn’t contribute any significant melodic or harmonic material to the remix. Similar treatment of Reich’s works is fairly consistent across the Reich Remixed album where additions of sonic material not found in Reich’s originals are generally percussive or non-instrumental samples. This runs against the grain of many DJ remixes where a vocal or other recognisable element is taken and placed against a re- orchestrated backing track. It is unclear whether this attitude is a result of some undisclosed reverence for Reich, or has more to do with methods of composition common to the albums contributing artists that congruent with Reich’s own. I believe the latter to be more likely – Reich’s use of repetition as a structural device parallels the reliance on looped materials in electronic dance music and provides ready made ‘loops’ for the remixers. As with much electronic dance music, and unlike many popular songs used for remixes, there is often no ‘leading’ melodic voice in Reich’s compositions and this appears to have influenced an approach to the material in line with the norms of Electronica. Reich Remixed – Minimalism and DJ Culture 135

Harmony / melody

Bernstein’s remix of Eight Lines presents a significant reduction of Reich’s use of harmony and melody. For the Eight Lines Remix, Bernstein has sampled twenty- seven bars of Reich’s 87 page score. From this source material, Bernstein has created a number of short loops of audio that form the basis for his remix. Reich’s score is constructed upon short repeating motifs and subsequently some of these are sampled ‘as written’. Piano Loop 1 (see Figure 4, below) is clearly identifiable from the opening bars of Reich’s score. Though the loop actually begins on beat four of the bar, the down-beat is asserted strongly and is reinforced by the entry of the hi-hat on beat one at 0:13 and again at 0:16. This gives the strong impression of a two beat anacrusis followed by the looped piano motif as it appears in the score.

Figure 4: Piano Loop 1 as scored for Piano 1 in Eight Lines Bar 1. p. 1

Similarly the Piccolo Loop used in sections B and B1 (see Figure 5) can be identified on page 47 of Reich’s score (see Figure 6), though in this instance the loop is offset forwards by one beat so that it starts on the second beat of the bar. This displacement of loops is common throughout the remix and the majority of sampled loops are offset backwards or forwards by a number of beats in relation to their position in Reich’s score.

Figure 5: Piccolo Loop as present in Eight Lines Remix

Figure 6: Piccolo Loop as scored for Piccolo in Eight Lines p. 47 beginning Bar 373

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In addition to borrowing directly from Reich’s score, Bernstein also samples fragments from larger repeating phrases. Working with samplers and a sequencer allows Bernstein to sample and arrange these fragments quite easily as any under- full measures are simply perceived as containing extra rests. For example, the Clarinet Loop utilised in sections A, A1 and A2 is derived from a larger scored element (see Figure 7 and Figure 8) and ‘lengthened’ in order to create a continuous loop in 5/4 time.

Figure 7: Clarinet Loop as present in Howie B’s Eight Lines Remix

Figure 8: Clarinet Loop as scored for Clarinet 1 in Eight Lines p. 6 beginning Bar 41

The Clarinet ‘Solo’ in section C displays a more creative application of this same approach whereby Bernstein rearranges sampled fragments to create a new part. The transcription of the Clarinet ‘Solo’ (Figure 9, next page) is comprised of various permutations of three short samples taken from Reich’s original. The Clarinet ‘Solo’ is the most dramatic example of Bernstein remaking an element of Reich’s piece for the remix. Bernstein does not only strip these samples of their original context but also manipulates the relationships between individual notes within a melodic phrase. The melodic phrases used by Bernstein for the solo do not appear in Reich’s score, though it’s possible they are derived from Figure 10 and Figure 11 (next page) albeit with slight manipulation of pitch.

Furthermore, while each sample recurs in roughly the same order throughout the section there is not the same use of regimented repetition found elsewhere in the remix. The process of joining together small fragments to build longer melodies is also observable in Reich’s own work and this suggests at least a significant congruence between Reich and Bernstein’s compositional techniques at the point at which Bernstein is most assertively ‘original’.

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Figure 9: Clarinet ‘Solo’ as present in Howie B’s Eight Lines Remix beginning at 3:34

Figure 10: Element of Clarinet ‘Solo’ as scored for Clarinet 1 in Eight Lines p. 77 beginning Bar 609

Figure 11: Element of Clarinet ‘Solo’ as scored for Clarinet 2 in Eight Lines p. 57 beginning Bar 461

At a structural level, Reich’s piece moves through a circle of fifths from B major in Section 1 to F# major in Section 2 and Db major in Sections 3, 4, and 5 (see

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Figure 3 p. 131). In contrast, Bernstein’s remix alternates between B major in sections A, A1 and A2 and Db major in sections B, B1 and C (Table 1 p. 132), further delineating sections of the remix. Bernstein has also simplified Reich’s use of melody and harmony within sections of the score. In particular, the expanding ‘cadential’ progressions in the strings, canonic interlocking piano parts and the resulting melodic lines found in the wind instruments (Schwarz, 1981) are either not present or are dramatically simplified in Bernstein’s remix.

In each case this can be attributed to Bernstein’s comparatively small repertoire of samples that reflect the sections of Reich’s score they were taken from. As Bernstein samples no material from Section 2 of Reich’s score, it is understandable that the remix does not make use of F# major as a tonal centre. Similarly, the sampled melodic lines and string parts do not evolve in the same manner as in Eight Lines simply because Bernstein samples no more than two bars for each loop. He has sampled selectively in terms of instrumentation, length and location within the score. It is unsurprising, therefore, to find a related reduction in harmonic and melodic complexity.

The only addition of harmonic material Bernstein makes to the remix is in the Bongo part, which is tuned to a C# / Db. Though serving a primarily rhythmic function, the Bongo helps to anticipate the shift from B major to Db major by highlighting the C# / Db in a manner similar to a pedal point or drone. The use of drones is a minimalist trait though it would be difficult to conclusively state that Bernstein’s use of the Bongo in this way is as a result of direct influence from the minimalist tradition. Rather it is likely that the drone results from Bernstein’s choice of sample, particularly as the sample is taken from a tuned percussion instrument. That the intonation incorporates effectively with Reich’s material is more evidence of Bernstein’s skill as a remixer rather than any deliberate emulation. Nevertheless, this is further evidence that Bernstein’s remix exhibits strong parallels with the minimalist tradition.

Rhythm

Reich has praised Bernstein for maintaining the metre of the original composition suggesting, rightly or wrongly, that it is “rare to find DJs or anyone else in the pop world who works in a meter like 5” (cited in Weidenbaum, 1999; online). As noted above, Bernstein demonstrates a rudimentary understanding of the canonic

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rhythmic relationships present in Reich’s score. He indicated that though familiar with the time signature, he had not worked in 5/4 prior to the remix (HBa2). In fact the retention of the meter of Reich’s piece may be due to Bernstein’s choice of samples, because for the most part, the metric pulse of the piece is determined by Piano Loops 1, 2, 3 and 4. A key rhythmic device used throughout the remix is the juxtaposition of repeating loops of varying lengths with autonomous downbeats (Figure 12, next page). In this instance, the interaction between the looped rhythms has the effect of inducing the perception of metric dissonance and in some cases of metric shift. For example the positioning of String Loop 1 (Figure 13, next page) against Piano Loops 1 and 2 in Section A causes the part to be heard as syncopated in deviation from Reich’s Score (at Figure 14).

Piano Loop 1 Piano Loop 1 Piano Loop 1 Piano Loop 1

Piano Loop 2 Piano Loop 2

String Loop 1 String Loop 1

Clarinet Loop Clarinet Loop

Phone Phone

Loop Loop

Bongo Loop Bongo Loop Etc.

Hi Hats Hi Hats Hi Hats Hi Hats Hi Hats Hi Hats Etc. . .

Drums Drums

1 2 3 4 5 1 2 3 4 5 1 2 3 4 5 1 2 3 4 5

Figure 12: Juxtaposition of loops in Section A1 of Eight Lines Remix

Figure 13: String Loop 1 as present in Howie B’s Eight Lines Remix beginning 0:59

Figure 14: String Loop 1 as scored for Violins 1 & 2 in Eight Lines p. 1 beginning Bar 1

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Rhythmic dissonance is also introduced to the remix through the addition of several programmed percussion parts. Most obviously the Hi-Hat pattern (Figure 15) induces a perception of polymeter by setting a 3/4 rhythmic grouping against the prevailing 5/4 structure.

Figure 15: Hi Hat Pattern

Similarly the Drum Loop in Section C (Figure 16) deviates from the conventions of asymmetrical meter as Bernstein arranges the snare into unusual beat groupings of 2 + 1 + 2. This creates a feeling of tension when set against the more conventional 2 + 3 and 3 + 2 beat grouping of String Loop 4 (Figure 17), particularly as the Drum Loop functions as the primary metric pulse in Section C.

Figure 16: Kick and Snare Drum Loop beginning 3:34

Figure 17: String Loop 4 taken from Eight Lines score Bar 443. P. 56

The juxtaposition of looped fragments appears to emulate Bernstein’s understanding of the canonic structure of Eight Lines, in as much as the remix is comprised of several elements “going round and round in cycles” (HBa22). This interplay of incommensurable loops is not dissimilar to the polyrhythmic structure employed by Reich in pieces such as Drumming. It should be noted, however, that this method of composition is also prominent in electronic dance music where works are often structured upon layers of repeating loops and cycles. Unlike Reich, Bernstein does not use these techniques to achieve phase modulation and his placement of rhythmically dissonant loops is static. Once a loop is introduced it does not vary with regard either placement or phrase and any sense of metric shift (discussed above) is abrupt, unlike Reich’s own gradual processes. As with the structure of his remix, Bernstein’s use of incommensurate loops appears

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related to an intuitive approach to composition and what sounds ‘right’ rather than the deliberate use of polyrhythms found in Reich’s pieces.

Timbre, effects and sonic treatments

Throughout the remix, Bernstein employs a number of techniques to bring about the modification of timbre via electronic treatments. Timbral changes are effected through the application of filtering, distortion, compression and the manipulation of the attack, decay, sustain and release of sounds via envelope (ADSR) filtering. One example of these techniques is clearly audible in Piano Loop 3 (Figure 18 and Figure 19) and Piano Loop 4 (Figure 20 and Figure 21, next page), which are heavily compressed in order to restrict dynamic range, filtered to remove low frequencies and distorted to create a grainy texture. By treating the samples in this manner certain notes become more prominent resulting in the perception of a particular rhythmic emphasis.

Figure 18: Piano Loop 3 as present in Eight Lines Remix beginning 1:49

Figure 19: Piano Loop 3 as scored for Piano 1 in Eight Lines p. 35 beginning Bar 286

Figure 20: Piano Loop 4 as present in Eight Lines Remix beginning 1:49

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Figure 21: Piano Loop 4 taken from Piano 2 Eight Lines score p. 43 beginning bar 335

Because the sonic treatments obscure the precise pitches being sounded, the resulting rhythmic pattern (Figure 22) is fore-grounded whilst the melodic and harmonic content of the piano recedes into the background of the mix. As a general principle, where timbral changes are applied to otherwise static elements of the remix, the effect is to move elements from the foreground to the background of the mix or vice-versa. Thus, timbral changes are used to create a sense of movement in the remix in a manner congruent with Reich’s own use of timbral shifts for similar purposes. The presence of the resultant pattern is reinforced by Bernstein’s use of a Cow Bell (Figure 23) to further accentuate beats two and three of the first bar of Piano Loops 3 & 4. This is directly in keeping with the minimalist’s use of deliberate psycho-acoustic phenomena, in particular the emergence of resulting patterns.

Figure 22: Resulting rhythm pattern from Piano Loops 3 & 4

Figure 23: Cow Bell Loop as present in Eight Lines Remix beginning 1:50

Bernstein’s remix also affects timbral changes through mechanical means. The vocal samples used in the remix are subject to changes in frequency, amplitude and duration brought about through the manipulation of a record turntable. Three techniques are used by Bernstein: spinning down the record by turning off the drive shaft of the turntable while the needle is still engaged; changing the playback speed of the record and subsequently the pitch and duration of the recording; and manually spinning the record to achieve unusual variations in playback speed. While these techniques are congruent with the use of turntables

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as instruments by John Cage, more advanced techniques are also present in genres of Electronica, particularly Hip-Hop. Given Bernstein’s position within Electronica, his work as a DJ and remixer, and an absence of references to Cage in his interviews and writings, I believe the latter to be the case in this instance. In addition to these techniques, Bernstein treats elements of the remix using reverb, delays and ring modulation. Of these, the most prominent are the grainy echoes and delays applied to the snare drum and vocal samples. Utilising a typical Dub technique, a stereo delay is used and the input level is varied creating ‘washes’ across the stereo field. Bernstein notes that a Dub aesthetic was present in the final construction of the remix, as elements such as the delays were ‘performed’ on top of the sequenced tracks in order to achieve “more movement” in the remix (HBa20). Table 2 (next page) identifies the application of sonic treatments and effects to elements of the Eight Lines Remix.

A B C A1 B1 A2 Filtering Filtering and Filtering Filtering Filtering Filter compression applied to Hi- applied to applied to sweep applied to Hat and Snare snare Kick applied to Piano Loops Filter sweep Resonant Hi- Hats 3 + 4, Kick applied to Hi- Filter Snare Hats applied to Resonant Bongo Filter Filter sweep applied to applied to Bongo Hi- Hats

Dynamics Kick Drum Kick Drum Kick Drum Snare slightly distorted slightly Distorted distorted Compression distorted applied to Piano Loops 3 + 4

Envelope Snare decay Snare and Hi Snare Snare decay Snare Filtering / sustain / Hat decay / decay / / sustain / decay / release times sustain / sustain / release time sustain / cut release time release cut release cut time cut time cut Effects Delay / Echo Delay / Echo Ring Delay / Delay / Echo Delay / wash on wash on Modulation on Echo wash wash on Echo wash Snare and Snare and Tambourine on vocals Snare on Snare vocal vocal Reverb on samples samples Flute Delay / Echo wash on Snare

Table 2: Timbral changes present in Eight Lines Remix by section

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Discussion

Bernstein’s remix of Eight Lines demonstrates significant similarities with Reich’s original work. Though Bernstein is evasive in acknowledging Reich’s influence on his work, the liner notes to Reich Remixed make no such reservations and position Reich as the “father of DJ culture” (Gordon, 1998; p. 2) arguing that minimalism is somewhat of a cornerstone of Electronica. Bernstein does identify Reich as an influence on his work but cites no specific examples of how this influence is incorporated. Bernstein’s reflections on his own compositional practice are at times contradictory and vague, most probably due to Bernstein’s highly intuitive approach. By contrast, the analysis of Bernstein’s remix provides a more useful basis for comparison, bearing out strong congruencies between Reich and Bernstein's compositional aesthetics and techniques. As an exemplar of contemporary dance music production Bernstein’s remix exhibits many of the traits held in common between Electronica and the experimental music tradition. Several similarities exist between Reich’s composition, Bernstein’s remix, and more importantly, broader aesthetic concerns present within minimalism.

Figure 24 (next page) visually maps the musical and conceptual traits present in Bernstein’s remix against elements of the experimental music tradition and Electronica. Those areas encompassed by solid lines represent influences acknowledged or claimed in relation to Bernstein’s remix whereas dotted lines represent influences, such as Hip Hop, that are inferred by Bernstein’s artistic practice. As will be discussed further below the Figure aims to represent Bernstein’s remix and broader artistic practice exhibits several traits held in common between Reich’s work, minimalism and Electronica more broadly as well as, somewhat surprisingly, traits related to the experimental music tradition not evident in the broader context of Electronica.

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Figure 24: Musical and conceptual traits found in ‘Eight Lines Remix’

Broadly speaking, while acknowledging Reich as an influence, Bernstein does not clearly articulate how this influence may have impacted his music. While he does identify the use of repetition and process based composition as being congruent with his own practice, he does not clarify exactly how this is borne out in his composition. Bernstein's preference for process-over-product in his own music are congruent with similar emphases in the work of Reich and other composers within the experimental music tradition discussed in this dissertation. However in relation to the Eight Lines Remix Bernstein’s notion of ‘process’ does not describe either musical or aesthetic processes in a manner recognisably similar to those used by Reich. Consequently it would be difficult to ascribe the largely intuitive process of music creation described by Bernstein to the influence of Reich’s own conception of “a compositional process and a sounding music that are one and the same thing” (1968, p. 10).

While not directly referencing the structure of Reich's piece, Bernstein's choice of samples engender a strong association between sections of Reich's composition and Bernstein's remix. Despite this Bernstein rejects the notion that the structure

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his remix was referenced to Reich’s original and any similarities must be understood as a function of Bernstein’s choice of samples rather than any real influence by Reich. Bernstein’s remix of Eight Lines makes use of limited material from Reich’s original composition. In line with this reduction in material, the remix displays a related reduction of harmonic and melodic complexity. The use of a drone-like percussive element in the remix may indicate emulation of the works of Terry Riley or La Monte Young though this is unlikely given the lack of evidence in support of such a hypothesis.

Similar to many of Reich’s works, Bernstein’s remix makes use of repetition as a structural device. Bernstein retains the meter of Reich's piece and appears to emulate the canonic structure of Eight Lines through the juxtaposition of layered repeating motifs. Rhythmic dissonances including the presence of metric shift and polymeter in the remix is caused by the juxtaposition of looped materials and Bernstein's unusual treatment of asymmetrical meter. These rhythmic dissonances contribute to a perception of a polyrhythmic structure not dissimilar to that used by Reich in pieces such as Drumming. In addition, Bernstein's use of timbral changes and resulting rhythmic patterns are strongly reminiscent of similar techniques employed by Reich and the simple audible additive and subtractive processes by which the remix is structured are evocative of Reich’s notion of sounding-processes.

Many of the similarities between Bernstein’s remix and the experimental music tradition can also be explained with reference to Electronica. The question then arises whether these similarities are the result of some influence on Bernstein by the experimental music tradition. Bernstein’s background as a composer within Electronica; the lack of any claims of influence by the experimental tradition prior to the Reich Remixed project; and Bernstein’s unwillingness or inability to clearly articulate any influence that Reich may have had on the remix also strongly suggest that these traits are due to the influence of Electronica on his work. The use of repetition is a fundamental feature of Electronica, as are the use of electronic sound sources and treatments, minimal harmonic content and composition utilising a minimum of means. Bernstein’s remix of Eight Lines also utilises Dub-style production techniques including: the use of additive and subtractive processes; the use of electronic treatments; the juxtaposition of looped material; the use recontextualised sounds; and an emphasis on timbre and texture Reich Remixed – Minimalism and DJ Culture 147

in the remix. Furthermore, the remix bears clear stylistic similarities to Dub in the use of delay washes, vari-speeded (time-stretched) samples and the juxtaposition of incommensurable loops creating rhythmic dissonance. Given Bernstein’s acknowledgment of the influence of Dub on his work it is reasonable to attribute these traits to the influence of Jamaican music rather than the experimental music tradition.

There are also traits present within Bernstein’s remix that are not held in common with Electronica but are present in the experimental music tradition. The use of a drone-like percussive sound in the remix presents a possible point of contact with the minimalist works of Terry Riley and LaMonte Young. Similarly Bernstein’s stated preference for process-based composition is in line with the broad aims of the experimental composers. However, these similarities are not necessarily tantamount to experimental music influence. The use of the percussive drone is not acknowledged by Bernstein as relating to any minimalist influence on his work and is probably due to Bernstein’s choice of sample rather than a deliberate emulation of Riley or Young. Though reinforcing similarities between Bernstein and the experimental music tradition, these elements of the remix do not support a case for direct influence.

Bernstein’s work does demonstrate strong similarities and congruencies with the experimental tradition in a number of areas. Bernstein’s use of Reich’s Eight Lines as source material has had an obvious influence on the content, form and rhythmic construction of the of the remix. However, Bernstein has not engaged with Reich’s material in a manner that is outside the scope of his usual practice and key similarities between Bernstein’s remix and Reich’s original conform to the overlap between traits found in Electronica and the experimental music tradition. While Bernstein has undoubtedly been influenced by Reich’s original piece in the creation of his remix, this Case Study does not support assertions of direct influence by the experimental music tradition on Bernstein’s artistic practice in general. Furthermore this Case Study does not support the notion made in the liner notes of the Reich Remixed CD that minimalism has somehow “filtered into the consciousness” (Gordon, 1998; p. 2) of Electronica. While there are undeniable similarities between works of minimalism and Electronica, these have been shown to relate to parallel developments within distinct musical genres.

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Case Study Two:

Surface Noise – A Cagean Approach to Electronica

In 1998 sound-artist Robin Rimbaud, also known as Scanner, created an ‘alternative film soundtrack’ of London. Titled Surface Noise, the work was performed over three nights during a bus journey between London landmarks Westminster Palace and St. Paul’s Cathedral. The ‘score’ for the piece was generated by overlaying the melody of London Bridge Is Falling Down over a map of London. Rimbaud recorded sound and images from the locations where the notes fell and used the ‘score’ as a route for the bus to follow during each performance. Rimbaud has stated that Surface Noise follows a “Cagean use of indeterminacy” (2001; p. 67) and claims that his broader work is profoundly influenced by the music and theories of John Cage. In a 2001 interview Rimbaud stated “Cage has been a consistent figure on my life . . I went on to read all of his published works, attended concerts and was lucky enough to meet him some years ago” (cited in Cortes, 2001; online). Rimbaud has also acknowledged the influence of minimalist composers Michael Nyman (Fringecore Magazine, 1997), Terry Riley and Steve Reich (Lundeby, 2001) on his work.

This Case Study examines Rimbaud’s claims by identifying areas of contrast and comparison between Rimbaud’s work and the experimental composers in order to identify how and in what ways their influence may be observed. Surface Noise will serve as a focus for this study as one example of the congruencies and confluences between the work of John Cage and Robin Rimbaud. Accordingly, Surface Noise will be discussed with reference to the key traits of both the experimental music tradition and Electronica (identified in Part II). Whereas my discussion of Howie B’s Eight Lines Remix was informed heavily by traditional musical analysis, a similar approach would be less helpful in this instance due to the nature of Surface Noise and the manner in which Rimbaud claims the influence of Cage is transacted on his own work, discussed in more detail below. Instead this Case Study will focus on Rimbaud’s composition process with reference to his own assertions regarding the influence of Cage on his work, my own interview data and various other interviews and articles written by and about Rimbaud.

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Robin Rimbaud

Robin Rimbaud came to prominence during the early 90s with the release of his first two albums Scanner (1992) and Scanner 2 (1993). Both albums contain recordings of intercepted telephone conversations placed against “minimalist musical settings” (cited in Cortes, 2001; online). In response to these works, Rimbaud was declared a ‘telephone terrorist’ receiving widespread press coverage of his work and has since become a prominent artist within the Electronic Listening Music genre. Rimbaud cites John Cage’s Variations IV (1965), along with industrial group Throbbing Gristle’s Heaven Earth (1980), Brian Eno and David Byrne’s My Life in the Bush of Ghosts (1981) and Robert Fripp’s Exposure recordings (1979) as the inspiration for using human voices in his work (Marcus, 2001b). In this regard, Rimbaud’s stated influences outside of the experimental music tradition are likely to have played a more important role than Cage, because the human voice does not play an integral part in Variations IV. A case could be made that the use of radios in Variations IV parallels Rimbaud’s own use of ‘intercepted’ transmissions via the scanner, though Rimbaud does not suggest this himself.

Rimbaud has worked in collaboration with a number of high profile musicians and artists including Laurie Anderson, Brian Ferry, DJ Spooky as well as author and composer Michael Nyman. Alongside his commercially released albums, Rimbaud has been involved with a number of multimedia art projects in which his music is coupled with visual stimuli including film, dance pieces, art galleries and other public spaces (Young, 1999). In addition Rimbaud has worked on several high-profile commissions including work for the BBC and an imaginary national anthem for the EU entitled Europa 25 as well as taking up a Fellowship in Sound at John Moore’s University between 1993 and 1998.

At first glance, it would appear that Rimbaud is a model child of the experimental music tradition, listening attentively to the voices of his parents and engaging creatively with them. However Rimbaud is cautious of identifying his work as experimental:

RRa8: In the way that my work refuses to address more traditional song forms, or graphic narrative, or use more traditional instrumentation, most would argue that my work is indeed experimental . . However, these terms frighten me as

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they pigeon hole work before you've had the chance to make a decision yourself and can be most misleading at times.

Interestingly, references to Cage do not appear in Rimbaud’s writings or interviews until 1994 and Rimbaud’s recollections of his introduction to Cage – either by his piano teacher at age 11 (Cortes, 2001) or his music teacher at age 14 (Burton, 1994) – vary between accounts. When asked for specific examples of how Cage has influenced him, Rimbaud is vague:

RRa7: Cage has offered me endless inspiration to ways of living, not only through music but through a shared responsibility and understanding of the world beyond just work and creativity.

This response is problematic in that it suggests Cage has had a profound influence on Rimbaud’s work without offering any specific examples. This should not suggest that such evidence does not exist, merely that Rimbaud was unwilling to expound further when interviewed for this research. The imprecise nature of Rimbaud’s response is most likely due to the large number of questions and a need for brevity. Rimbaud responded to the interview questions via email while en route to Brussels from the UK and had initially declined to be a part of the research due to a busy touring schedule. Frustrating as this is, these are the realities of research of this kind and Rimbaud’s claims must be taken seriously and investigated further. As a starting point it is useful to examine the key aesthetic concerns of Rimbaud’s work. Rimbaud claims to take a strongly conceptual approach to his work:

RRa1: What I do is take ideas, concepts, shapes, frames and generally contextualise them within sound.

It is reasonable to assume then that if Rimbaud’s claims of influence are accurate they should be observable in the ideas and concepts Rimbaud applies to his work. This hypothesis is in keeping with the manner in which Rimbaud discusses Cage’s influence, which tends towards conceptual rather than musical, “I just loved concepts and Cage’s work . . and I could sense the ideas and structures that gave them their depth” (cited in Fringecore Magazine, 1997; online). Rimbaud variously describes his work as concerned with exploring the “relationship between sound and architectural space and the space in between information, places, history and relationships” (2001; p. 65); “the hidden resonances and Surface Noise – A Cagean Approach to Electronica 151

meanings within memory and, in particular, the subtle traces that people and their actions leave behind” (Ibid; p. 69); and “the process of surveillance . . using the indiscriminate signals drawn down from the ether, the acoustic data of the city, the wow and flutter of our daily lives” (cited in Villas, 2000; online).

A constant element of Rimbaud’s work is ‘mapping’ physical environments by creating audio documentations of the locations that he performs and records in. Rimbaud has expressed this process as creating a ‘sound polaroid’ or ‘invisible map’ of the locations such that “the sounds are reflective of that area” (cited in Lee, 2000; p. 184). Rimbaud has utilised a number of techniques to achieve this including the scanner (a long-range radio receiver that allows the user to tune in on a range of transmissions, from ham radios and mobile phones, to electrical surges) from which he derives his alias, audio generated from visual images via a program called Metasynth and the use of samples “of locations, of cities, of voices, accents, radio, television, music, etc.” (cited in Anon, 2003; online).

Rimbaud credits Cage with informing these ideas, suggesting that Cage’s influence had led him to “zoom in on these spaces in-between” (cited in Cortes, 2001; online). What Rimbaud appears to be referring to is a perception that Cage’s work is positioned ‘in-between’ music and noise through his use of environmental sound. In the same interview Rimbaud suggests that “the effect of Cage taught me that sound is ever present [and that this poses the question] . . how does one define the spaces between music and sound?” (Ibid). Rimbaud has expanded on these ideas most succinctly in a 2000 interview where he states:

I was very liberated by the ideas of John Cage where he talked about you embracing your environment. So if you’re trying to work, and you’re trying to write or make a film or something, and you hear these sounds in the background, you have to accept the fact that this is part of the situation you’re in. It’s that environment whether good or bad. It’s reflective of that situation. (cited in Lee, 2000; p. 184)

Whether this is an accurate reading of Cage or not is largely unimportant, what is significant is that Rimbaud makes a connection between Cage’s writings and music and his own use of environmental noise. Significantly, Rimbaud does not always make this connection when discussing his work. Intriguingly the passage from the Cortes (2001) interview (above) is repeated verbatim, but without the references to Cage’s influence, in an article Rimbaud (2001) contributed to the

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Leonardo Music Journal in the same year. It would be unfair to infer too much form this, as the recycling of material may simply be a product of Rimbaud’s busy schedule, however it is interesting to observe that for whatever reason Rimbaud appears to be selective in aligning his ideas with Cage’s own. Further, the use of environmental sound in ‘musical’ settings is not exclusive to Cage, or the experimental music tradition, and can be found throughout the history of Electronica beginning with Dub.

In addition to the use of environmental noise. Rimbaud suggests that his work embraces a ‘Cagean’ approach to creativity, by which he appears to mean the use of chance and indeterminacy. Rimbaud has stated “chance is a key factor in all that we create . . and as such I embrace this Cagean approach to creativity” (cited in Palmer, 2002; online). Similarly, Rimbaud describes elements of his 1998 work Surface Noise as “following a Cagean use of indeterminacy” (2001; p. 67). Notably Rimbaud does not refer to the sound of Cage’s compositions when discussing the composer’s influence on his own work. This would suggest that in some way Rimbaud engages with compositional processes similar to those employed by Cage. Certainly Rimbaud echoes the experimental traditions emphasis on process based composition through statements such as “art for me has never been a 'thing', an object oriented discipline but more of a process” (cited in Palmer, 2002; online); and "art is not a 'thing' spelt with a big capital A, it's a process" (cited in Villas, 2000; online).

In practice Rimbaud’s terminology is misleading, as he appears to be referring to the process of composition rather than composition as process. Rimbaud does not, in other words, use process to refer to what Nyman describes as “outlining a situation in which sounds may occur, a process of generating action (sounding or otherwise), a field delineated by certain compositional ‘rules’” (1999; p. 4), but rather to the more mundane process of the conceptual and musical steps leading to the composition and ultimately realisation of a musical work. While it could be argued that Rimbaud’s use of devices such as the scanner introduces an element beyond his direct control, this does not correlate to Cage’s own use of chance operations to determine specific elements of his compositions. Nor does Rimbaud appear to compose in such a way that his works are structured so as to be “indeterminate of [their] performance” (Cage, 1968; p. 69). Further contributing to this quandary, Rimbaud is actually at odds with the rationale that underpins Surface Noise – A Cagean Approach to Electronica 153

Cage’s use of these techniques as a desire to eliminate his own personal prejudices from the compositional process:

RRa11: I disagree with Cage here. I try to make work that connects with people. I've always used a style of sound and sonic matter that attempts to maintain a connection with people, that moves and engages them, rather than leaves them in a confused, post modern, deconstructed analysis state where they are trying to tear something apart to understand it, rather than simply move inside it and become attached. My works have become increasingly personal over the years.

In order to make sense of Rimbaud’s claims, it is helpful to observe that he does not think of composition and performance in the same way that Cage does. For all his subversion of the medium, Cage’s compositions follow the tradition of Western Art music in that the score and performance are separated to the point that, in some cases, the system of instructions comprising the score is divorced from the sonic realisation of the work in performance. An ‘indeterminate’ work, in Cage’s terminology “refers to the ability of a piece to be performed in substantially different ways – that is, the work exists in such a form that the performer is given a variety of unique ways to play it” (Pritchett, 1993; p. 108). Cage writes that “an indeterminate piece, even though it might sound like a totally determined one, is made essentially without intention, so that, in opposition to music of results, two performances of it will be different” (cited in Kostelanetz, 1971; p. 10). Like many composers of Electronica, Rimbaud manipulates and arranges sound directly without the need for score or performer. Echoing Stockhausen, Rimbaud argues that in some instances the ‘performance’ never really takes place and the work exists only as ‘virtual’ construct:

I record into a sampler . . it’s digital information, it’s zeroes and ones . . then it goes onto a DAT tape, so it’s never real; at this point, it’s even less real. It’s still zeroes and ones. Comes out on compact disc, and in some way, it’s [sic] never actually existed. (cited in Lee, 2000; p. 185)

In such a situation it becomes difficult to distance Rimbaud’s intentions from the realisation of his compositions in the manner that Cage advocated, even if Rimbaud wanted to (though as observed above, he would appear not to). Furthermore, where Cage’s scores pertain to a structured process, Rimbaud’s method of composition relies heavily on improvisation which he declares “happens at the nexus point of all my work, even in the studio” (RRa12). By Surface Noise – A Cagean Approach to Electronica 154

improvisation, Rimbaud is referring to a live ‘remix’ that could be considered synonymous with the improvisatory mixes of Dub:

Basically I take two or three MiniDiscs out with me, a keyboard, a sampler, a hand- held Theremin, a little short-wave radio, and a scanner . . on the MiniDiscs I have a series of rhythms or textures, so I have something going on at about 128bpm, then I have another loop on another MiniDisc, and then another one, all running at the same speed. Then I optimistically press 'start' at the same time and try and get them in time . . . I just try and improvise around it (cited in Owen, 2001; online).

He appears to equate this form of improvisation with process based artwork in that both result in a necessarily unrepeatable performance object (Lee, 2000) and argues that each performance or recorded work captures a unique temporal moment, the ‘sound polaroids’ (Rimbaud, 2001) discussed above. This causes the act of composition and performance to become blurred, almost to the point that the terms could be used interchangeably. Rimbaud views ‘live’ performance as a form of composition in which looped material, samples and intercepted transmissions are combined in an improvisatory manner (Owen, 2001).

RRa12: Composing generally occurs within a studio space, a dedicated location, that allows for alternations, edits, decision making, a time for contemplation and re- arrangement. Live performance is also a form of composition . . but overall allows for a lot more risk taking. It's a reason I don't often use a computer in performance for the fact of danger. I like not knowing the way a piece will develop over time.

In this context each new performance produces a fundamentally different work through the application of a consistent methodological approach. This presents an interesting contrast with the experimental traditions use of indeterminate works in which multiple, often dramatically different, outcomes are produced by the same work. This goes some way to explaining Rimbaud’s alignment of his work with ‘Cagean’ ideals as both Rimbaud’s improvised composition method and Cage’s use of indeterminacy result in outcomes which cannot be predicted in advance by composer or audience and are necessarily unrepeatable. While the performer may improvise within the context of an indeterminate work, the indeterminate process is pre-planned and distinct from its realisation. However, in Rimbaud’s case it is not that his compositions are structured in such a way as to make use of

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indeterminate processes but rather, that he chooses to perform in an improvised manner because he feels that to simply repeat his works verbatim is uninteresting:

RRa6: I'm not interested in recreating many of my works, they are really statements of that moment in time so I simply store the samples on a disc, store the arrangement digitally somewhere.

RRa13: It's invaluable for me to continue to discover in performance, rather than repeat. I'm not a jukebox. I can't perform music that's created in a studio, unless I simply just take a laptop with me to play back the work and that's personally not very stimulating or exciting.

It seems then, that Rimbaud departs from Cage’s intention. If anything, Rimbaud’s use of improvised composition is closer to Reich’s notion of composition as sounding process, but it is not Reich who Rimbaud aligns himself with in this regard. Whether or not Rimbaud’s work accurately reflects Cage is not as important as identifying how Rimbaud believes he has applied Cage’s ideas. Nevertheless, it is questionable whether an improvised approach to the construction of a musical work from sampled and ‘live’ materials can really be thought of as ‘Cagean’. A similar approach to composition is observable in Howie B’s Eight Lines Remix and as a recurring technique in electronic dance music beginning with Dub.

In addition to Rimbaud’s acknowledged similarities to Cage, it is also possible to identify several congruent elements which Rimbaud does not draw attention to. In line with wider practice in Electronica, Rimbaud’s work makes a feature of transforming sounds through digital means. His list of tools includes several software programs designed to drastically manipulate audio, such as Metasynth, Reaktor and Thonk as well as the GRM Tools and Pluggo plugin suites. Rimbaud states:

RRa15: I chose to work with these tools as they offer me exactly what I need - the ability to take sounds and transform them, to collage, to edit, to be a small mobile unit for performance, to be light, to allow work to happen, rather than to lose my way within a wall of sound.

This is congruent with Cage’s predictions on the future applications of music technology. Rimbaud claims to make a feature of the creative abuse of ‘low-tech’

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devices such as the scanner, walkmans and other (comparatively) cheap hardware, finding alternate uses for and “bastardising [this equipment by] push[ing] it to its limits” (cited in Lee, 2000; p. 183). Rimbaud suggests that music software is “best when it’s abused [as it] can encourage you to work in patterns that can be limiting” (Ibid p. 183). Such abuse of technology for the purposes of creating new sounds is certainly present, though not uniquely so, in the work of Cage whose Cartridge Music (1960) and prepared piano works exhibit just this sort of abuse of music technology, in these instances, a concert piano and record cartridge.

Minimalist influence

Refreshingly, the purported minimalist influence on Rimbaud’s work is far easier to detect. Rimbaud identifies the minimalist influence on his work as pertaining specifically to his use of repetition via looped material, citing Terry Riley and Steve Reich “earlier works in the 1960s [as] a great inspiration” (cited in Lundeby, 2001; online). When interviewed for this study Rimbaud identifies the minimalist traits in his music as relating to a paucity of musical materials:

RRa10: A problem with digital technology is that we are able to constantly layer up ideas upon ideas, without allowing the actual basic idea to be recognised, So in the music studio it's common to add track upon track to a recording, to colour it and extend it, yet one can so easily be lost within these dense layers that the one single narrative cannot be identified. I have a tendency to remove, rather than replace/extend. I would rather hear the skeleton than the overbearing mass.

Both the use of looped material and composition with a minimum of means are certainly common to the minimalist composers and experimental tradition, however these traits are also prevalent in Electronica. In this matter Rimbaud appears hardly distinct from the tradition in anything other than that he cites minimalism as a primary influence rather than House, Techno or Hip Hop.

In the above discussion I have identified the manner in which I believe Rimbaud’s claims to influence by the experimental composers may be born out in his general practice. I will now turn my attention to examining Rimbaud’s Surface Noise (1998) in order to see if these observations can be sustained with reference to a specific musical work.

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Surface Noise

This analysis will examine the composition and performance of Surface Noise to identify whether the work bears out significant hallmarks of the influence of the experimental tradition. To this end I will concentrate on elements of the work that corroborate or challenge Rimbaud’s assertions regarding such influence. These will include the identification of sound sources and sonic treatments, the pieces structure and the role of rhythm and the composition process as documented by Rimbaud. The role of ‘familiar’ musical features such as melody and harmony will be discussed but are less important because they are de-emphasised in Rimbaud’s own composition. Transcriptions and diagrammatic representations have been used where appropriate, my preference however is to direct readers to the recording of the work itself to verify the observations made in this analysis (see Audio Examples 2–15, Appendix E).

The recording on which this analysis is based can be obtained freely from Scanner’s website.27 This recording represents one of a number of performances of the work and the only audio documentation available. Given Rimbaud’s improvisatory approach to live performance it is reasonable to assume that the other performances would not necessarily have made use of the same material or have been constructed in the same way. The recording must therefore be considered within the context of a particular permutation at a particular time. It is reasonable to suppose that the same general principles would have been applied to each performance of the work and as such the available recording is suitably representative for the purposes of this investigation.

The ‘score’

As noted to the introduction to this Case Study Rimbaud claims that Surface Noise follows a “Cagean use of indeterminacy” (2001; p. 67). The ‘score’ for Surface Noise was created by overlaying the melody of London Bridge is Falling Down over a map of London. This process is superficially similar to Cage’s use of several superimposed transparencies in some of his indeterminate works, including Variations I. However there is a fundamental difference in the manner in which Cage and Rimbaud view the composition process. In Cage’s works the

27 See http://www.scannerdot.com Surface Noise – A Cagean Approach to Electronica 158

resultant score is interpreted by the performer as a series of instructions for a specific musical performance. In the case of Surface Noise, the score does not have a direct bearing on the structure of the musical performance. Instead Rimbaud uses the score to suggest locations to collect sounds for use in the piece and to stage the performance. In this regard the score of Surface Noise is more akin to Cage’s use of chance operations to, among other things, determine the types of sounds to be used in a composition. Even this association is problematic as the score of Surface Noise does not actually determine what sounds will be used, only where they must be drawn from, and as such has only an indirect bearing on the performance event. Beyond this, Rimbaud does not specify any further purpose for the score. Consequently the score represets only one aspect of the pre-compositional process, in which sounds that may be used in the performance are collected.

The performance of Surface Noise under discussion here comprises five sections presented on Rimbaud’s website as separate audio segments, ranging in length from 4:41 to 8:50. The sections do not bear clear durational relationships to one another and do not appear to develop according to any formal structure. This is unsurprising given Rimbaud’s ‘improvisational’ approach to live performance. As each of the five sections should be equally representative of Rimbaud’s application of his ideas, I will use Section One of the recording as an exemplar and refer to salient features of the other sections where required.

While there is no clear formal development each section is constructed in a similar manner. Figure 25 (next page) represents the arrangement of the first section of Surface Noise (Audio Example 2, Appendix E) with reference to time. Sonic material is gradually added to the piece as the section progresses and removed in roughly the same order as the section draws to a close. Rimbaud gradually builds a ‘bed’ of sounds that remain constant, either through repetition or sustained drone-like sounds, once introduced. On top of this bed, Rimbaud layers a number of intermittent sounds that do not recur with any identifiable regularity (though they may repeat throughout the section).

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Figure 25: Time plot of Surface Noise Section One

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A similar method of construction is audible in each of the five sections, although the content differs and in some cases Rimbaud will interrupt the normal progression of a section by briefly interspersing a new sound to the exclusion of all others. An example of this can be heard in Audio Example 3 (Appendix E). In this instance it is difficult to discern whether the interruption is deliberate or the result of a malfunctioning delay unit or sampler, or possibly an overloaded audio buffer. Rimbaud reintroduces the loops he was using prior to the interruption rather than simply mix them back in, and this suggests a physical interruption to the performance.

In context however, it is unlikely that an audience would have perceived this as a ‘mistake’ and the interruption appears as simply part of the performance, a genuinely indeterminate part at that. The manner in which the performance of Surface Noise is constructed is in keeping with Rimbaud’s approach to live performance and ‘improvisational’ composition. Surface Noise appears to be an 'indeterminate' piece because it produces several different pieces from the same source material. That each ‘improvisation’ develops in a similar way does however, suggest an unacknowledged or unconscious order, structure or perhaps ‘determinacy’ imposed on the work through the materials used, the method of performance or perhaps Rimbaud’s own personal taste. Despite the fact that each performance of the work is necessarily unique, Rimbaud’s method of improvised composition do not equate with Cage’s understanding of indeterminate composition. If anything, the use of repetition as a structural device suggests a confluence with the minimalist tradition. Of course this doesn’t mean that Cage has not influenced Rimbaud’s approach, simply that Rimbaud has not applied Cage’s ideas faithfully. At best this indicates an innovative extrapolation of certain elements of the experimental music tradition, at worst Rimbaud appears to be imitating the actions of certain experimental composers but with a different purpose or meaning.

In an interesting aside, there are examples within the experimental tradition that more closely align with Surface Noise. Max Neuhaus’ Listen: Field Trips Through Found Sound Environments (1966–68) for example, appears a clear precursor to Rimbaud’s composition. Neuhaus describes the piece as: “an audience expecting a conventional concert or lecture is put on a bus, their palms are stamped with the word listen and they are taken to and thru an existing sound Surface Noise – A Cagean Approach to Electronica 161

environment” (cited in Nyman, 1999; p. 104). Though Rimbaud utilises processed rather than naturally occurring sounds, there is an obvious similarity between Surface Noise and Listen, at least in as much as the theatre and intention of both pieces (namely the exploration of an existing sound environment) align closely. Rimbaud however appears unaware of Neuhaus’ piece or at least makes no reference to the composer or his work. This raises an interesting quandary in that Rimbaud is eager to explicitly reference Cage while there are other examples – within the experimental tradition – that provide a much better context for the types of work he is creating. In part this may have to do with some level of legitimacy to be gained through association with Cage’s work and ideas. In recent years Rimbaud has made a successful career out of positioning his work within the contemporary art world rather than Electronica and while John Cage is a well known composer of the twentieth century, Max Neuhaus is unlikely to be recognised by reporters, fans or funding bodies. Though this may appear improbably calculating, it is common practice within contemporary music for artists and record companies to carefully brand their music through an acknowledged set of influences. Alternatively, it is entirely possible that Rimbaud is simply unaware of the broader experimental music tradition beyond that of Cage and the minimalists. This is an interesting prospect in itself as it suggests that Rimbaud’s exposure to the experimental music tradition has been limited to some of the more prominent composers and the influence that the experimental music tradition as a whole has had on Electronica is much less than the rhetoric surrounding artists such as Scanner might otherwise suggest.

The performance of Surface Noise employs two distinct types of sound sources: recordings of environmental noise; and sounds generated using Metasynth, a software program that can be used to generate audio from digital images. Metasynth does this through a “reverse sonogram that uses light and color [of an image] to control amplitude and spatial placement” (Spiegel, 2005; p. 34). Rimbaud specifically used field recordings and modified photographic images taken from the locations around London dictated by the score, in order to create a ‘sound-polaroid’ of the environment (Rimbaud, 2001). This results in an ambient soundscape that is dramatically removed from the norms of House or Techno, but can be considered broadly representative of other ambient works of IDM.

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Working with these sounds Rimbaud created a number of short phrases and loops for use in performance. Rimbuad uses similar sounds in similar ways so that, for example, most of the percussive sounds hear throughout the performance of Surface Noise derive from the recorded footsteps, often processed through a delay. In addition, Rimbaud makes use of environmental street noise at the beginning and end of each section of the piece. This serves to delineate each new section as well as providing an impression of continuity between sections. At times these recurring motifs give an impression of some form of programmatic development, but this is not prominent or consistent enough to be considered a deliberate device.

Many of the environmental sounds used in the performance are manipulated and affected through the use of delays, heavy equalisation / filtering, time stretching and granular synthesis. Rimbaud’s use of sonic treatments renders much of the environmental sounds unrecognisable. One illustrative example is Rimbaud’s use of electronically treated bells throughout the performance. The source of these sounds is most likely the belltower at the Palace of Westminster in London (where Big Ben is housed) as this is one of the locations used by Rimbaud for the collection of source materials (Rimbaud, 2001). In addition, an unprocessed a fragment of the Westminster Quarters (Figure 26) can be heard clearly at the end of section one (Audio Example 4, Appendix E) while Big Ben itself can be heard striking the hour at the beginning of the section (Audio Example 5).

Figure 26: Westminster Quarters

From samples of these bells, Rimbaud derives a number of loops that are used throughout the performance. For instance, Audio Example 6 (Appendix E) taken

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from Section Two of the performance is a short loop derived from the recording of Big Ben heard at the start of Section One (Audio Example 5). The original sample has been processed to remove high frequency content and accentuate the low frequencies of the sound. The sound of the mallet striking the bell is obscured in this process leaving only a resonant bass drone. Audio Example 7 also probably finds its genesis in Audio Example 5, as the attack and resonant decay are similar, but it is difficult to say conclusively as the sound has been heavily processed. Audio Example 8 is derived from another recording of the Westminster Quarters not used in this performance. This treated sample is used in Section Five and has been processed to remove high frequencies, accentuate frequencies in the low mid-range and create a grainy texture and distortion when the bell is struck. Elements of the sample also appear to have been rearranged as the hammer sound and bell resonance recur in an unnatural pattern. The same sample is also used in Section Two of the performance but is processed more heavily to remove the lower frequency content leaving only the sound of the bell being struck (Audio Example 9). The celesta like sound heard in Audio Example 10 appears to be derived from Audio Example 4 pitch-shifted up by approximately an octave and divested of low frequency content. In each of the above examples it is possible that the treatments were achieved through the use of equalisation or pitch shifting but the grainy texture and unusual recurring bell pattern in Audio Examples 8 and 9 suggest that granular synthesis is a more plausible explanation. Variations in sounding pitch between the processed bells are likely the result of accentuating particular overtones produced by the bells or pitch-shifting employed by Rimbaud before, during or after the sounds were processed.

Regardless of the specific types of treatments applied to the sounds, it is highly unlikely that they are the result of indeterminate processes. Rimbaud has made a number of important determinations regarding this, including selecting material to be processed, choosing the manner in which to manipulate a particular sound and identifying which of these sounds will be used in performance. Even if Rimbaud had no direct control over the process of sonic manipulation itself, he still determines the ways in which these sounds are treated as well as identifying sounds and loops to be used in performance. There appears to be no qualifier for these decisions other than Rimbaud’s own tastes and preference for how he would like the work to sound. In opposition to Cage’s notion of indeterminacy, Rimbaud

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exerts a high level of control by selecting and processing this material for use in performance. Subsequently, while Rimbaud’s manipulation of sound could be said to fulfil Cage’s imaginings in his essay Experimental Music, it undermines the notion that Surface Noise is an indeterminate work.

The recording contains no predetermined melodic or harmonic content. However both melodic and harmonic content is present as the result of environmental factors such as the Westminster Quarters, London underground public announcements and sounds produced by Metasynth. Sounds created with Metasynth are more conventionally ‘musical’ such as the sustained G flat chord heard in Audio Example 11 (Appendix E). The harmonic content present in the environmental recordings on the other hand is arguably incidental or a by-product of the sonic treatments discussed above. In either case there is no underlying harmonic structure and the sounds appear to be used either for their textural quality or coherence with Rimbaud’s stated intention to utilise only material captured ‘on location’.

The rhythmic content of the piece is not ‘scored’ but is instead the product of looped environmental noise. Though use of repeating material produces a strong sense of pulse throughout, the loops are not arranged with regard to any clear metre or rhythmic structure. Significant variations in rhythm are common and arise from the introduction and juxtaposition of often rhythmically dissonant looped materials and the use of delays. An example of the former can be heard in Audio Example 12 in which the established pulse of Percussion Loop 1 in Section One is usurped by the more prominent, though rhythmically dissonant, Percussion Loop 2. Rimbaud’s method of live composition is laid bare in this extract as he first triggers the loop but then, for an unknown reason, decides to re-trigger the loop in a different (and far more dissonant) location. The use of delays to affect changes in rhythm is also evident in Section One and can be heard in Audio Example 13 where the percussion loop has been fed into a delay unit creating a brief counter-rhythm reminiscent of the use of delays in Dub. Rimbaud does not appear to exert direct control over the rhythmic content of individual loops and as such, it could be argued that the rhythmic content of the piece is indeterminate in that it is outside his direct control. As previously discussed, Rimbaud has exerted significant determination in selecting the material used in the performance and chooses which loops to juxtapose and when to introduce them into the piece. Surface Noise – A Cagean Approach to Electronica 165

While congruent with the composition aesthetic of some composers within the experimental tradition, the methodology employed in the performance of Surface Noise is at odds with Rimbaud’s ‘Cagean’ approach to indeterminacy (2001).

Changes to texture are affected primarily through the use of envelope and frequency filters, some of which are sequenced to create extended patterns. An example of this can be heard in Audio Example 14 (Appendix E) where the second percussion loop used in Section One (labelled Percussion Loop 2 in Figure 25 above) is affected by a sequenced filter. One cycle through the filter sequence encompasses eight repetitions of the percussion loop, creating the impression of an extended loop though the rhythm itself remains unchanged. Similarly the toned percussion heard in Audio Example 15, taken from Section Three, is affected by a resonant filter which is manipulated throughout the section to produce slight variations in tone and timbre. Variations to texture are also achieved through the addition and subtraction of elements within each section and these tend to generate the most dramatic changes in timbre, rhythm and dynamics.

Discussion

Through his writings and interviews Rimbaud consistently articulates links between Cage’s work and his own. Rimbaud cites Cage as a key influence on his work along with minimalist composers Steve Reich, Terry Riley and Michael Nyman. Rimbaud claims that Surface Noise employs a ‘Cagean’ approach to creativity (2001). Rimbaud appears to draw on number of distinct ideas found within Cage’s writings to create an aesthetic that, while not necessarily in keeping with Cage’s original intentions, highlights what Rimbaud believes is a connection between Cage’s work and his own. These claims were examined through discussion and analysis of Rimbaud’s musical and conceptual concerns with particular reference to Surface Noise.

Figure 27 (next page) plots Rimbaud’s key musical and conceptual traits in relation to the ascribed influences discussed in this Case Study as well as areas of confluence with Electronica. Traits identified as relating to the claims of influence by Cage and the Minimalists are encompassed within the solid boundaries. Area’s of confluence with relevant genres of Electronica such as Hip Hop, Dub and IDM not explicitly referred to by Rimbaud in relation to his work are encompassed by dashed lines. As can be seen, many of Rimbaud’s musical and conceptual Surface Noise – A Cagean Approach to Electronica 166

concerns are congruent with the experimental music tradition, however the majority of these are also present in the broader, and overlapping, context of Electronica. While this significant overlap may be expected in the work of a DJ / producer such as Howie B, the limited number (one) of musical and conceptual traits in Rimbaud’s work relating uniquely to the work of Cage, the minimalists or the experimental music tradition more broadly is curious.

Figure 27: Musical and conceptual traits found in ‘Surface Noise’

Under scrutiny, Rimbaud’s aesthetic framework and artistic output do not align perfectly with his stated experimental influences. While Rimbaud refers to terms and ideas in common parlance in the experimental music tradition, his understanding of their meaning is often divorced from their original context. On first reading Rimbaud’s preference for process-based work appears congruent with the experimental music tradition. However, Rimbaud uses the term to describe the process of composition rather than the types compositional processes documented by Michael Nyman (1999). Though bearing superficial similarities to Cage’s use of graphic scores, Rimbaud’s score for Surface Noise does not

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function in a discernibly similar manner to those used by Cage or other experimental composers. Unlike the experimental composers, Rimbaud’s work employs no separation between the acts of composition and performance and does not employ the score in such a way that it has a direct bearing on the performance act. In Surface Noise, Rimbaud utilises the score as part of a pre-compositional process that, while influencing the performance environment, has little bearing on the structure or performance of the musical work.

Rimbaud’s use of repetition and the presence of minimal harmonic and melodic content indicate a possible minimalist influence, but such traits are also common to the bulk of Electronica. Rimbaud’s approach to live performance, creating an improvised mix from various pre-recorded sound sources, can also be aligned with standard performance practice within Electronica, from Dub and Hip Hop through Disco, House, Turntablism, Jungle and IDM. Likewise Rimbaud’s use of improvised thematic musical forms is congruent with the work of other artists within Electronica. The musical application of noise, use of electronic sound sources and treatments and an emphasis on timbre / texture over melody and harmony are more likely to support Rimbaud’s assertions of a Cagean influence on his work. Despite these techniques being present in some forms of Electronica, Rimbaud’s use in the context of Surface Noise is generally less ‘rhythmic’ or ‘musical’ and significantly more dissonant than much Electronica.

Parallels can be drawn between Rimbaud’s use of environmental noise, sonic treatments and the prominence of rhythm and texture in the performance of Surface Noise and key traits exemplified by Cage. In particular, the performance of Surface Noise can be said to privilege texture and rhythm, over melodic and harmonic content, paralleling Cage’s own use of rhythm as a means of realising the ‘all sound’ music envisaged in his essay The Future Of Music: Credo (1968). Interestingly Rimbaud does not make this association himself, instead identifying Cage’s use of ‘environmental noise’ in compositions such as 4’33” as heavily influencing his own work. While the use of environmental sounds in the form of scanned telephone conversations and ambient noise are mainstays of Rimbaud’s work, the manner in which these sounds are utilised and the rationalisation Rimbaud offers for their use differs significantly from Cage’s own. Where Cage’s use of noise initially tended towards the replacement of traditional rhythmic

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instrumentation with non-musical sound, Rimbaud utilises environmental noise in a manner congruent with other forms of Electronica, most obviously Ambient.

While parallels can be drawn to Cage’s use of noise in his aleatoric and indeterminate works, Rimbaud’s understanding and application of what he terms ‘Cagean indeterminacy’ differs significantly from Cage’s stated ideals. Rimbaud’s interpretation of Cage’s use of indeterminacy results in improvised thematic musical forms that ape the outcomes of Cage’s indeterminate works but are divorced from Cage’s methodological approach. The performance of Surface Noise is not demonstrably indeterminate in the way that Cage defines the term with regard to form, content or performance. There is a superficial similarity between the construction of the score of Surface Noise and some of Cage’s works (such as Variations 1). However, Rimbaud utilises the score artefact in a manner at cross purposes to Cage’s own, having little bearing on the form or structure of the performance. Though Rimbaud views each performance as necessarily unique, the improvised nature of the performance makes it almost impossible to distinguish the realization of the work from Rimbaud’s preferences and preconceptions as a composer. Rimbaud further invests his personal taste and preference into the piece through the process of selection and processing the sounds. As such, the performance of Surface Noise is at odds with Cage’s notion of indeterminacy, which requires the composer to remove his own taste and preference from the creative process.

With regard to the broader influence of experimental music on Rimbaud’s work it is possible to identify traits that are strongly reminiscent of the minimalist composers in Rimbaud’s work. The performance of Surface Noise makes use of repetition and minimal melodic and harmonic content. However such traits are also common among much Electronica and there is no clear evidence that Rimbaud has drawn on the minimalist tradition in this instance. Interestingly Rimbaud appears unaware of artists and works within the experimental tradition more closely aligned with his own concerns. This suggests his engagement with the tradition is somewhat populist in nature and possibly related to Rimbaud’s branding of his work and himself.

Rimbaud’s work demonstrates significant congruencies with the experimental music tradition but also significant variance, often in precisely the area’s where

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Rimbaud claims to have been influenced the most. The available evidence suggests that the influence Rimbaud draws from the experimental music tradition has been subject to significant reinterpretation or extrapolation. Rimbaud has reinterpreted, in some cases dramatically, his sources of inspiration and filtered them through the music of his own contemporaries with probable reference to prevailing market forces. This is of course precisely the type of innovation that has always been a part of the transfer of musical ideas. This Case Study supports Rimbaud’s claims that he has been influenced by the experimental music tradition, while at the same time pointing out key differences between the ways in which these influences have impacted on his work and the way in which they might be understood in their original context.

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Case Study Three:

Errata Erratum – Online Systems Music

In 2002, Paul Miller (DJ Spooky That Subliminal Kid) created an online installation for the Los Angeles Museum of Contemporary Art. Errata Erratum is a multimedia work that ‘remixes’ Marcel Duchamp’s Sculpture Musical and Erratum Musical in an interactive form. Miller has stated that while researching the work he “found so many examples of how DJ culture intersected with some of the core tenets of the twentieth-century avant-garde that it seems to have unconsciously absorbed them all” (2004a; p. 93). While Nyman (1999) takes pains to differentiate between the experimental music tradition and European avant garde, Miller makes no such distinctions, identifying DJ culture as a “kind of inheritance” (cited in Radio V, 1998; online) of John Cage’s Imaginary Landscapes No. 1 and Hip Hop as an “extension of the New York tradition of minimalism” (cited in Hargus, 1997; online).

This Case Study will discuss Errata Erratum with reference to Miller’s broader assertions linking his work, and Hip Hop more generally, with the experimental music tradition. Miller’s claims will be evaluated by comparing and contrasting musical and conceptual traits in Miller’s work with those of the experimental music tradition and Electronica. Errata Erratum provides a useful focal point for this study as Miller discusses the piece at length in his book Rhythm Science. In contrast to the preceding Case Studies, a fundamentally different approach is required in this instance as Errata Erratum exists as an interactive installation work rather than a recording. Consequently this Case Study will focus mainly on my interview with Miller as well as the extensive discussion of Miller’s work in his own writings and interviews. Traditional musical analysis plays almost no role here and an emphasis instead is placed on the conceptual underpinnings of Miller’s work.

DJ Spooky, That Subliminal Kid

Paul Miller has a background in Philosophy and French Literature, having studied both at university level, and began DJ-ing while an announcer on US college radio. Unlike many of his contemporaries, Miller has studied music at a university level, though he notes he did so for only one semester. Miller is an internationally Errata Erratum – Online Systems Music 171

respected touring musician and composer who has worked in collaboration with a range of underground hip hop artists such as Kool Keith and Dr. Octagon as well as sound artist Robin Rimbaud, turntablist DJ Olive, Dub producer Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry, Slayer Drummer Dave Lombardo and Public Enemy’s Chuck D. In addition, Miller has curated a number of New York experimental music clubs and ‘happenings’ and lectures at the European Graduate School. Miller also contributed a piece to the Reich Remixed project discussed earlier in this dissertation, a work that he has performed in concert with the Kronos Quartet.

In the mid 1990s Miller began releasing music under the moniker of DJ Spooky That Subliminal Kid. Borrowed from the pages of William Burrough’s Nova Express, Miller views his alter ego as a “conceptual art project” (2004a; p. 13) focusing on the role of sound in contemporary culture. In one interview Miller reveals that he views his own work “as an inheritor of the Warhol sort of post-pop thing” (cited in Radio V, 1998; online). Though ostensibly situated within the context of the New York hip hop scene, Miller’s music (termed ‘ILLbient’ by collaborator DJ Olive) has been compared to the Ambient music prevalent in the UK Rave scene at the same time (Reynolds, 1995a) and is characterised by the collage of numerous, often non-musical, sound sources. Describing Miller as an abstract turntable artist, Thom Holmes depicting the milieu of sounds present in Miller’s work as:

. . a kind of real-time musique concrète, weaving electronic tones into the mix, sampling, Dubbing, and rearranging chunks of sound like pieces of time. It is a heavy brew of noise, voice, electronic distortion, sampling, and an occasional musical or rap riff . (2002; p. 270)

Miller claims a strong aesthetic underpinning to his work that incorporates his studies in philosophy, asserting that “DJ-ing was always an extension of my writing” (cited in Baxter, 1997; online). Miller supports this stance by pointing to the etymology of the word ‘phonograph’ – phono (sound), and graph (writing) – suggesting that the act of DJ-ing (phonography) could be best described as “sound writing” (Miller, 2002; online). Miller often refers to his work music in terms of literary metaphors (particularly science fiction) and often discusses music in terms familiar to post-structuralist theory. Miller views stream of consciousness writings and non-sequential narratives found in literature and philosophy as analogous to the DJ mix (Miller, 1996). Much of Miller’s writings Errata Erratum – Online Systems Music 172

and interviews exhibit a similar tendency to jump rapidly between ideas that are not obviously related. In this regard it is likely Miller is emulating philosophers such as Deleuze and Guatarri who exhibit a similar decentred, non-hierarchical form of prose. Despite this, Miller does make consistent (and coherent) statements relating to the intentions behind the creation of his work, though these are dispersed across numerous sources and are in some cases lacking specific detail. It is possible to glean an understanding of Miller’s aesthetic in relation to the experimental music tradition through the analysis and synthesis of these sources.

In general, Miller’s writings and interviews are more concerned with the influence of ideas than musical traits. Miller suggests that ‘the remix’ is one representation of the sorts of rhizomatic structures found in the writings of Deleuze and Guattari. Miller posits that “the basic sense of ‘rhizomatic’ thought [is the] driving force” (2005; online) behind his music and art. A recurring theme in his writings is the rejection of binary oppositions in favour of hybridity and flux:

Derridean difference and its re-engagement with textuality . . take us to a place where all is flux – the boundaries between the different mediums have long ago faded. Sound and sentiment, symbol and signified – all that is old news, flotsam and jetsam floating in the strange continuum . .‘the electromagnetic imaginary’” (n.d; online).

Miller proposes that “music is all about creating tools for thinking – about giving people systems to organize information outside of the European categories of ‘rationality’ and ‘universal subjectivity’ that drove the Enlightenment” (2005; online). One of Miller’s key compositional aims is to recontextualise sounds by creating collages (that Miller equates with information) in ways that break free of existing associations for the listener. Miller refers to ‘flipping’ aesthetic norms and established ideas in order to create “new situations for people to look at the world around them” (cited in Pinon, 2001; online):

PMa1: So many people are afraid to flip things in a different style because they feel like they'll lose their ‘credibility’ – I want to flip things to the point where people de-program from that kind of mentality.

Miller cites experimental composers such as Cage, amidst a long list of other influences including James Brown, (visual artist) Basquiat, Afrika Bambaata, author Raymond Scott and Sun Ra, as examples of this type of creativity (Pinon, 2001). Miller views sampling as a way of achieving his artistic vision by creating Errata Erratum – Online Systems Music 173

with “found objects” (2004b; online). Although Miller’s terminology could suggest Varèse’s use of found sounds, Miller’s reference appears to be the visual art tradition and more specifically Marcel Duchamp’s found (art) objects such as the infamous urinal. Miller states that “by using a found object . . that has the ability to hold replicated information, and in turn can be used to reproduce that very same information . .[the object] arrives at a point where it is the electromagnetic equivalent of the blank canvas” (1996; p. 352).

Miller’s adoption of what might be termed a post-modern or deconstructive approach to art – Miller prefers “post-post-modern” and “reconstructive” (cited in Simula, 2005; online) – results here in a somewhat dogmatic opposition to so- called mainstream American culture. Miller suggests the core elements of his work derive from his experiences as a young African American male, and his racial identity appears strongly tied to the notion of hybridity and diversity in his work (Miller, 1996). Miller also argues that this racial identity has set him at odds with the art ‘establishment’ (as Miller views it) (Simula, 2005). Miller is at pains to identify himself as an ‘artist’ proper as well as a DJ and musician, but complains that the multiple contexts his work exists within are often not recognised by mainstream culture (Ibid). In one instance Miller compares the New York art world to the South African apartheid regime, suggesting that,

PMa13: It has its racially encoded visions of what is acceptable ‘black’ art, and I don't fit it . . the DJ thing took over because the art world can't deal with real diversity.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Miller is equally polemic when discussing politics, culture and the role of the media in contemporary society. In particular, Miller’s interviews, writings and works started to address more overtly political themes post the 2001 terrorist attacks in New York (Miller’s home city). Many of Miller’s writings and interviews on the subject appear somewhat heavy on rhetoric, but Miller’s passion for his subjects is evident. He posits his preference for diversity against what he views as a society, at least in America, which is hamstrung by social hierarchies and rigid ways of thinking and doing. Miller appears to view the current political climate in the United States as heading toward an Orwellian dystopia where big brother is always watching and double- speak is the language of choice. Within this context, Miller believes his music and art take on a significance beyond themselves and provide “an inner space for Errata Erratum – Online Systems Music 174

people to work out various passions and obsessions” (cited in Baxter, 1997; online). Many of Miller’s diverse influences are assimilated under what he terms an “obsession with technology” (Ibid) as a way unfolding and communicating common human experience. Miller is notable among his peers in that he possesses a strong sense of historical precedence to his work:

PMa9: The whole notion of mix culture parallels what has been going on in certain areas of philosophy and intellectual property law, architecture, genetic engineering, and media manipulation.

Miller proposes that the DJ mix provides a forum for exploring media literacy in contemporary culture and views his own work as and promoting the sort of diversity of culture and ideas that he believes is imperative for future generations.

PMa10: I feel like I was born on the cusp of this kind of stuff, and its a drag. If I had been born maybe 20 years later, I would be in the right generation. My generation still has a lot of boundaries about multi-culturalism, which is a real fucking drag. White Americans still think that they are the centre of the universe, and because I travel a lot, well... its pretty easy to see that this isn't the case. My style of music reflects that paradox . . the ‘dark’ and ‘eerie’ Hip-Hop shit I have on my mind comes out in the music, but its also an exploration of how to get out from under the dead weight of the 20th century.

Experimental influence

The relationship of Miller’s work to the experimental music tradition is complex and somewhat elusive. Miller’s statements regarding this tradition often relate to perceived parallels between Miller’s own work and that of experimental composers. In such instances the influence on Miller’s own work is inferred rather than articulated. It is therefore important to carefully evaluate whether these parallels result from Miller’s assimilation of elements of the experimental music tradition or some other source. Miller positions the development of his work as a continuation of the art ‘happenings’ of the 1960s. Miller suggests that his early performances were “based on indeterminanc [sic]” (2004a; p. 48). and were intended to pay homage to the likes of John Cage, Nam Jun Paik, Joseph Beuys and Allan Kaprow. At the same time, Miller argues that his work functions as a critique on what he describes as conservatism within contemporary art music:

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Art-music people are still trapped or entrenched in what is basically an early seventies aesthetic of what is experimental music, and the focus is on the live performance or the traditionally validated musical instrument. (cited in Baxter, 1997; online)

This poses problems when discussing the influence of experimental music on his work. While Miller suggests his early works based on indeterminacy and paid homage to Cage (among others), he also rejects the influence of the experimental tradition as part of the established Western Art world. Such comments appear to cast Miller in the role of a rebellious teenager at odds with the aesthetics and musical ideals of a previous generation, but this would be an unfair caricature. Miller does not see the experimental music tradition as static, but something that changes with time. In this context Miller’s critique refers to the enshrining of the experimental music tradition rather than his extrapolation of these elements in his own work. Miller claims to take the work of the experimental composers as a jumping off point for his own works and ideas. He does not reject what has come before in the experimental music tradition per se, but rather the orthodoxy he believes is present in art music:

PMa4: The 70s was an era were a lot of this stuff was new, and now a lot of that stuff has become the establishment. I want to upset the balance and engage some different milieu.

To all intents and purposes Miller believes that his work does draw on elements of the experimental music tradition, as Miller himself understands it. At a basic level he believes that his work is experimental in that it explores the deconstruction of musical, cultural and artistic norms. However this is somewhat removed from the tenets of the experimental music tradition and Miller’s own understanding of this diverges somewhat from that of Michael Nyman (1999). Similarly to commentators such as Homes (2002) and Martin (2002), Miller does not make any distinction between the experimental music tradition and the European avant- garde. This creates difficulties in identifying what Miller actually means when he discusses the influence of experimental music on his work. In his book Rhythm Science (2004a), Miller suggests that DJ culture intersects on numerous occasions with the “core tenets of the twentieth-century avant-garde [and that] it seems to have unconsciously absorbed them all” (p. 93). When asked about this statement via email, Miller was unwilling to provide specific examples of the ways in which such an absorption might have taken place. Instead he suggested “it's all about the Errata Erratum – Online Systems Music 176

re-appearance of phenomena . . I guess its the technological equivalent of reincarnation” (PMa3) and that he builds on the works of experimental composers as a basic vocabulary for his own compositions. Miller states that “my generation has to deal with a media vacuum, and most people don't find a historical reference for what they're doing, they just say, ‘This is what I'm doing, and it reflects my interests’” (cited in Baxter, 1997; online). Miller contends that his familiarity with twentieth century art music provides his work with a “longer sense of tradition” (cited in Shipp, 2002; online).

In practice, Miller has adopted a somewhat schizophrenic pantheon of influences and borrowed from each one as convenient. For example, Miller praises Iannis Xenakis for an ability to “precisely organize noise and silence” (cited in Baxter, 1997; online) while apparently ignoring that Cage’s work explored similar concerns from the 1930s. Elsewhere Miller refers to the work of Cage and Xenakis as coming from “two radically different camps of ‘systems culture’” (cited in Shipp, 2002; online). Miller’s polarises Cage and Xenakis as random and algorithmic composers respectively, neglecting Cage’s own algorithmic composition techniques such as the use of ‘square root’ or ‘micro-macrocosmic’ rhythmic form. Interestingly, the upshot of Miller’s observations is that “’systems culture’ has now become the basic way we think about music – random and algorithmic at the same time” (Ibid). Perhaps the best explanation of Miller’s approach to the question of influence is that Miller is simply a child of post- modern times. Amid a myriad of musical, philosophical and cultural influences, Miller argues that “electronic music makers . .[are] much more willing to jump around and try and create this kind of psychological collage space” (cited in Baxter, 1997; online). In a corresponding statement, Miller suggests somewhat glibly that its “a post-modern situation – cut and paste as we go” (cited in Radio V, 1998; online).

Miller believes that elements of DJ culture exhibit a strong conceptual underpinning that is comparable to that of experimental composers John Cage, Steve Reich and Philip Glass (FAQT Magazine, n.d.). Substantiating these claims proves difficult. Miller draws parallels between the use of repeating breakbeats in Hip Hop and the repetition of small motifs in the minimalist tradition. He indicates that “if you look at the New York school of minimalism in the 60s . . all that stuff translates directly to Hip Hop” (cited in Shipp, 2002; online). It is Errata Erratum – Online Systems Music 177

unclear however, whether this is as the result of direct influence on Hip Hop by minimalism. It is more likely that the similarities noted by Miller are due to a confluence of musical developments between the two traditions. In an interesting aside, Miller argues that both Hip Hop and minimalism are a response to an urban environment. He suggests that New York’s landscape “guides the mind towards this kind of extreme minimalism” (cited in Baxter, 1997; online) and proposes a correlation between the “recursive spatial arrangement of tones [and the architectural] deployment of building materials to create a building’s framework” (Miller, 1996; pp. 349–350). Despite parallels between Hip Hop and minimalism, Miller’s work does not exhibit minimalistic traits that are distinct from forms of Electronica.

Similarly, Miller (1996) views the DJ mix as a way of deconstructing the relationship between performer and audience. He suggests that the boundaries dividing performer and listener are blurred by the DJ’s use of found objects or self generated sounds to evoke emotive responses. In effect, Miller is describing the inclusion of the audience, either in place of or in tandem with the performer, as the focal point of much Electronica. The UK Rave scene in particular, actively promoted and documented the audience as the centre of attention during performance events. In turn, this finds parallels with some experimental works in which the role of both performer and audience is one of active participation in the creation and reception of a musical work.

Less easy to discern is the influence of John Cage on Miller’s work. Miller refers to Cage’s Imaginary Landscapes No. 1 as a sort of pre-cursor to contemporary DJ performance in general, as well as to his own work specifically (Radio V, 1998). At one level this comparison rests on Cage’s use of the record turntable as a musical instrument. Though it is difficult to prove a clear link between John Cage and proto-turntablists Grandmaster Flash, Afrika Bambaata and Grandmaster Theodore, several authors and artists have suggested such a link does exist (for example, Holmes, 2002 ; Toop, 1995) and Miller reiterates these claims. Miller draws parallels between Imaginary Landscapes No, 1 and his own Illbient style suggesting that Cage “recorded frequencies of an urban situation and put it to vinyl” (cited in Radio V, 1998; online). This arises from an apparent misunderstanding on Miller’s behalf of Cage’s piece. Rather than the “frequencies of an urban situation” (Ibid) suggested by Miller, Imaginary Landscapes No. 1 Errata Erratum – Online Systems Music 178

instead utilises test-tone recordings that are vari-speeded to create fluctuations in pitch. Miller’s writings often exhibit such gaps (perhaps gaffs) in his understanding of Cage’s work and ideas. Miller describes the performance of Cage’s 4’33” as follows:

John Cage used to just stare at the piano in his silence pieces. The instrument was a jumping off point – an interface that had so many routes available. Cage wanted to highlight that meditational aspect of the creative act. (2004a; p. 28)

Miller’s reading 4’33” is open to some conjecture, not least because it was pianist David Tudor and not Cage himself who performed the work. 4’33” aims to focus the performer and audience’s attention on the unintended, and thus indeterminate, sounds occurring within the context of a performance environment. As Cage himself notes, “silence becomes . . not silence at all, but sounds” (1968; p. 22). Such misunderstandings do not negate Miller’s claims regarding Cage’s influence but rather point to a somewhat creative interpretation of Cage’s ideas on Miller’s behalf. The inferences Miller draws from Cage’s work are often difficult to predict and are demonstrative of a propensity to channel and redirect existing ideas in new and creative ways. Perplexingly, Miller compares the composition techniques used in serialism to the cut-up style production techniques found in some Hip Hop, and compares Cage’s use of indeterminacy with digital sequencing:

PMa3: You can see the dialog between Pierre Boulez and John Cage . . as a good overview of the idea of indeterminancy [sic] and serialism. These days if you look at what's gone on with digital "sequences" versus the kind of scratch media/cut up media we see as a basic vocabulary of youth culture at this point, you can see how these kinds of compositional strategies became tied in with the basic ways that we think about music and media.

As Miller points out, certain parallels can be drawn between the techniques employed by composers of serialist works and the use of sequencers to ‘retrograde’ and ‘invert’ samples. However it is unlikely that Hip Hop has been directly influenced by serialism and the parallels that do exist appear superficial at best and misleading at worst. While both serialism and Hip Hop make use of retrograde materials in the form of tone rows and samples, they are the result of

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very different compositional processes and are put to entirely different musical ends. Miller’s comparison of digital sequencing and Cagean indeterminacy is perhaps even more problematic. That Miller is aware of Cage and Boulez’s correspondence suggests Miller has a more than superficial familiarity with Cage’s writings. However, Miller’s references to the use of sampling has much more in common with musique concrète technique than Cage’s application of indeterminacy.

Digital sequencing is one of the most determinate of all electronic compositional processes in that the intention of the technology is to have every sound or event ‘locked’ to a bar, beat, frame or time marker. Subsequently the results will be identical each time the sequence is played back unless some other indeterminate element is introduced into the process. Furthermore, the notion of indeterminacy is reliant on a separation between the acts of composition and performance that is anathema to the use of the sequencer. A sophisticated playback device, the sequencer renders the act of physical performance unnecessary because the composer can arrange and realise a work virtually. In this regard the use of the sequencer is described perfectly by Stockhausen’s proclamation that “in electronic music, the interpreter no longer has any function. The composer, in collaboration with some technicians [or technology], realizes the entire work” (1958; p. 373). In an innovative interpretation of Cage’s notion of indeterminacy, Miller uses the term indeterminacy to refer to the process of reception rather than realisation.

PMa2: Cage looked to the idea of ‘indeterminancy’ [sic] and of giving up control over his compositions – I do the same with thinking about the basic fact that once I put a track out in the world, anyone and everyone who wants to can change and transform it. The digital update on Cage's concept bounces this through the idea of the continuous update.

Elsewhere, Miller interprets Cage’s idea of indeterminacy as relating to the juxtaposition or collage of a number of sounds, a practice which is fundamental to DJ performance. In this context he claims that if “you look at John Cage's idea of ‘indeterminancy’ and its relationship to turntables – the concept fits solidly . . The idea of collage drives my mixes – that's the point” (2005; online).

Miller’s approach to composition and performance embraces an improvisatory aesthetic involving the deliberate recontextualisation of sounds. Miller views the

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act of DJ-ing as a “form of improvisation [involving a] one-man band” (cited in Bastin, n.d.; online) comprising turntables, sequencers or computer software. Miller’s uses of the term ‘improvisation’ refers to an unplanned process of music creation in live performance using pre-recorded source materials. Miller suggests that the DJ not only expresses themselves through their choice of samples or records, but creates a form of aural sculpture wherein the recombinant nature of the DJ mix results in a form of collaboration between the DJ and the recorded music. Miller argues that in this way “the DJ acts as the cybernetic inheritor of the improvisational tradition of jazz, where various motifs would be used and recirculated by the various musicians of the genre” (1996; pp. 349–350). Because of this improvisatory aesthetic, Miller posits each performance of his work as a unique event existing only for the moment of time in which it occurs:

PMa11: Performances are direct reflections of that one night, that one scenario. Every one of them is different. They're all artefacts that are meant to vanish into the night, or for that matter into the next podcast.

While this is in line with Cage’s definition of an indeterminate work as one that is unrepeatable, the means by which this unrepeatability is brought about, namely improvisation, is difficult to assimilate with Cage’s intentions. It seems likely that Miller has adopted his approach to indeterminacy from Electronica and acknowledges “I grew up on ‘live’ electronic music . . combined with a kind of Dub tradition as well” (2004a; p. 36). Discussing the setup for his live improvisations, Miller states that he likes to work with a digital mixing board that allows for the (re)combination a variety of sounds and samples in a manner similar to that of Dub producers such as King Tubby and the Scientist (Pinon, 2001). While this methodology produces outcomes that parallel Cage’s indeterminate works, Cage arrives at these outcomes in a completely different manner to that practiced by Miller. Though Miller is eager to identify his work as having some relationship to the experimental music tradition, his writings and interviews inform only part of what is a complex landscape. In order to gain a more complete picture of Miller’s artistic practice as it relates to the experimental music tradition, I will now examine Miller’s piece Errata Erratum.

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Errata Erratum

The analysis of Errata Erratum will examine the composition and realisation of the piece with reference to Miller’s stated aims and his assertions that Errata Erratum demonstrates several parallels between Electronica and the experimental music tradition (Miller, 2004). As with previous Case Studies, this analysis will focus only on the specific features relevant to the discussion at hand. Miller’s writings and interviews inform this analysis and provide a useful framework within which to evaluate his artistic practice. Unlike the other pieces under discussion in this dissertation, Errata Erratum does not exist as a finished work but is rather a potential work that is realised through interaction with the audience. As such analysis of the piece will be restricted to various component parts and the way in which these are implemented. Descriptions, diagrams and screen captures of the web-based interface of Errata Erratum have been used to highlight aspects of the piece, however readers are encouraged to explore the online installation for themselves.28

Described as a “web based DJ project” (Miller, 2004, p. 93), Errata Erratum remixes two musical works composed by Marcel Duchamp, Erratum Musical and Sculpture Musicale. Though predating the experimental tradition by several decades, Duchamp’s works exhibit traits congruent with those of John Cage. Such confluences are not unexpected because Duchamp is referred to several times in Nyman’s Experimental Music (1999) as a clear antecedent to the experimental music tradition. Futhermore, Duchamp and Cage shared a long friendship, Cage composing Music For Marcel Duchamp for the artist in 1947 and the two performing Cage’s Reunion on-stage together in 1968.

Written to be performed by Duchamp and his two sisters, Erratum Musical (circa 1913) was created by placing cards containing a musical note, text taken from a dictionary and the name of a performer (Yvonne, Magdelaine and Marcel) into a hat and then drawing them out at random (Kotik, 1991). The resulting ‘score’ is thus constructed through a series of chance operations, as Cage would later define the term, or via a series of ‘mistakes’ that give the piece its name (Erratum Musical roughly translates as ‘misprinted music’ or ‘musical misprint’). The text

28 Viewable at http://www.moca-la.org/museum/digital_gallery/pmiller/opener.html Errata Erratum – Online Systems Music 182

used for the piece was taken from a dictionary definition of ‘imprimer’, “Faire une empreinte; marquer des traits; une figure sur une surface; imprimer un scau sur cire (To make an imprint; mark with lines; a figure on a surface; impress a seal in wax)” (cited in Chen, 1999; online) with the following directions: Sculpture Musicale: Sons durant et partant de différent points et formant une sculpture sonore qui dure. Translated, this reads “Musical Sculpture. Sounds lasting and leaving from different places and forming a sounding sculpture that lasts” (cited in Lotringer, 2000; online). Kotik (1991) notes that the piece is similar in form to the fluxus compositions of the 1960s, although the work could also be considered indeterminate in that the form, content and realisation of the piece is removed from Duchamp’s direct control, and thus intention, as a composer.

Errata Erratum inverts the relationships between composer and composition, performer and audience, predicating the realisation of the piece on interaction between the web interface and user. In effect the listener becomes the DJ, creating an individual mix from found audio objects (a further reference to Duchamp) they are presented with (Miller, 2004a). The piece comprises an interface (the control panel) by which the audience interacts with the piece and the stage where the results of this interaction are displayed. The control panel contains five ‘decks’ (Figure 28, next page) that function similarly to a DJ’s turntable. Each deck contains three virtual turntables, represented by pull down menus, that control sounds and images on the stage. Each of the five decks contain the same audio and visual ‘samples’ but operate independently of one another (Figure 29, next page). The first of the three ‘turntables’ controls a series of what Miller terms ‘roto-reliefs’: that is, circles of varying dimensions that contain patterned surfaces of different kinds.

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The Stage Control Panel

Figure 28: Web interface for Miller's Errata Erratum

Images Roto Reliefs

Audio Samples

Figure 29: One of the five ‘decks’ utilised by Errata Erratum

These roto-reliefs are representations of the cards Duchamp used in the creation of Erratum Musical, as Miller understands them (2004a) although the number of roto-reliefs (14) does not coincide with the number of cards (75). Visually, the roto-reliefs are reminiscent of spinning records as they orbit through regular cycles described by the controls situated at the bottom of each deck. The second turntable contains a series of images of Duchamp himself that follow proscribed pathways across the stage. These images have no clear parallel in Duchamp’s Errata Erratum – Online Systems Music 184

works. Miller does not describe a specific purpose for them other than further investing Duchamp’s personage within the remix. The final turntable holds several audio loops that comprise the musical elements of the piece. Two of these loops contain samples of Duchamp himself, but otherwise have been created by Miller, apparently without reference to the works he is remixing. His choice of sounds reflects his own recorded output much more closely than that of Duchamp.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Miller’s interpretation of Duchamp’s musical works do not completely align with the artists original intentions. Rather than a scored work, Miller believes Erratum Musical to be “little more than cues for . . unconscious sonic impulses” (2004a; p. 96). This interpretation of Duchamp’s work fits more comfortably with Miller’s own aesthetic which, as discussed above, relies heavily on an improvised form of composition and performance. It is understandable that Miller would opt for an interpretation that would allow him to utilise his preferred methods of composition. What Miller misses, or ignores, is the aleatoric structure of Duchamp’s piece. Though composed by chance processes, Erratum Musical, as with the work of many experimental composers, does not allow for the sort of open interpretation that Miller suggests. This discongruity illuminates the ways in which Miller creatively interprets, in some cases completely reinterprets, the work and idea’s of his influences in order to suit his own artistic agenda.

Though identifying Duchamp’s use of cards drawn from a hat in the composition of Erraturm Musical, Miller makes no reference to the score of the work. Instead he suggests the piece was a kind of party game in which Duchamps’ sisters and/or guests would “take a card from a . . and sing random phrases based on a loosely defined interpretation of the cards’s [sic] patterned surfaces” (2004a; p. 96). Miller’s reference to the patterned surfaces of the cards here is intriguing – he appears to have mistaken the dictionary definition of ‘imprimer’ for literal patterns engraved into the surface of each card. On the basis of this (mis)interpretation Miller has inscribed a series of patterns on the roto-reliefs present on the ‘stage’ of the web interface. The patterns themselves are apparently drawn from Duchamp’s work (Miller, 2004a), though Miller does not offer any references as to which works in particular he chose to ‘sample’. In any case, it is interesting to note that Miller’s creative interpretation of his influences encompasses the visual as well as audio mediums. Errata Erratum – Online Systems Music 185

In relation to Sculpture Musical, Miller appears to have borrowed Duchamp’s ideas more literally. Duchamp’s piece is much closer to the sort of open system used in Errata Erratum. Miller states that his remix is an “explicit experiment with sonic sculpture” (2004a; p. 96) created anew each time the work is viewed. The loops could also be seen as fulfilling at least part of Duchamp’s directions by presenting “sounds lasting and leaving from different places” (cited in Lotringer, 2000; online). Despite this, Errata Erratum does not concern itself with creating a lasting musical sculpture. Each configuration of the piece is necessarily transitory and disposable lasting only as long as the user chooses.

Though unacknowledged, Miller also references a separate and incomplete musical work by Duchamp, The Bride Stripped Bare By Her Bachelor’s Even: Erratum Musical (circa 1912). Existing only as an unpublished series of notes, The Bride Stripped Bare outlines a mechanical system described by Duchamp as “an apparatus automatically recording fragmented musical periods” (cited in Kotik, 1991; online) comprised of funnel, seven open-ended cars and several numbered balls and scored for a “player piano, mechanical organs or other new instruments for which the virtuoso intermediary is suppressed“ (Ibid). Though they are distinct works, Miller appears to confuse this piece with the aforementioned Erratum Musical and makes detailed reference to The Bride Stripped Bare in the closing paragraph of his composition notes:

Like Duchamp, the piece [Errata Erratum] also indicates the instruments on which it should be performed, but they are icons made of digital code. Where he would write “player piano, mechanical organs or other new instruments for which the virtuoso intermediary is suppressed,” we can click on a screen . .The title for the “system” is: “An apparatus automatically recording fragmented musical periods.” Here, again, we’re left with the ability to make our own interpretation of a given framework, and are invited to run with it as a kind of game “system.” The “apparatus” that let’s you make the compositions in his original notes is comprised of three parts: a funnel, seven open-end cars, and a set of numbered balls. Think of all of them as being flattened out on your screen and that’s what the Errata Erratum remix is about. (2004a; p. 97)

Mysteriously, the manner in which the funnel, open-end cars and numbered balls are represented in Errata Erratum is not stated. Furthermore Duchamp’s requirement that the apparatus used for The Bride Stripped Bare be one that

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automatically records fragmented musical periods is not incorporated into Miller’s piece. It is conceivable that the control panel acts as a sort of funnel, limiting what flows onto the stage and that the roto-reliefs and images of Duchamp, in as much as they could bear a passing visual resemblance, could be representative of the numbered balls and open-end cars respectively. However, the number of the components and the manner in which they operate does not align with Duchamp’s score. As has been borne out frequently in this Case Study, it would appear Miller has simply used Duchamp’s instructions as a form of creative stimuli in a manner which is difficult to identify in Errata Erratum as it is presented.

Both audio and visual components of the piece utilise repetition as a structural device. Miller suggests that the roto-reliefs and images of Duchamp placed on the stage “are explicitly referencing loops and repetition, cycles and flows” (2004a; p. 97). Similarly, the interface and looped audio materials encourage the layering of repeating material in a manner congruent with techniques employed by the minimalist composers. Further, the small number of samples and simultaneous playback channels (the five decks) limit user-created mixes to a minimal sonic palette. More importantly, the audio loops are devoid of significant harmonic variation, dictating an overall static harmony regardless of how each individual mix is created. More complicated rhythms can be formed by layering the rhythmic loops on top of each other because the different starting points of each loop result in the creation of dense rhythmic dissonance that could be likened to the use of polyrhythms by some minimalist composers, or even Reich’s phase pieces. The system is therefore rigged towards ‘minimalist’ outcomes as the user is unable to introduce new material and is constrained in their use of harmonic and rhythmic material regardless of how the samples are configured. Finally, the multimedia nature of the work and the fluxus-like nature of Duchamp’s works remixed by Miller suggest strong parallels to LaMonte Young’s work with the Theatre of Eternal Music.

In line with Miller’s broader aesthetic intentions, Erratta Erratum also demonstrates similarities with Cage’s use of indeterminacy. Cage’s indeterminate scores are by nature systems of instructions or series of tools rather than representations of sound. In this regard Errata Erratum is very similar to Cage’s ideals. Although the work is not scored, the performer / audience member is presented with a series of tools through which the piece is realised. These tools Errata Erratum – Online Systems Music 187

and the open nature of the piece conform to Cage’s notion of an indeterminate work as essentially nonintentional. Cage writes that “what this nonintentional music wants to do is . . to make it clear to the listener that the hearing of the piece is his own action – that the music, so to speak, is his, rather than the composer's” (cited in Kostelanetz, 1971; pp. 10–11).

Errata Erratum conforms to this ideal by requiring the listener to create their own mix of the piece. Miller describes this as an ‘open system’, stating explicitly that the work is about “the gap between execution and intent “(2004a; p. 93). Because of this, not only the experience of the piece but also its realisation is predicated on the listener rather than Miller himself. In doing so it might be reasonable to suggest that Miller is relying on 'listener competence' (see Stockfelt, 1997; Moore, 1996; Green, 1988) to make sense of the mechanism they are being presented with and interact with it in a meaningful way with reference to the genre norms of Hip Hop. Indeed Miller points the audience towards how to interact with the tool and provides listeners with 'example' mixes he has made with the tool demonstrating that it is possible for Errata Erratum to produce 'sonorous' or 'musical' output. At the very least Miller’s work invokes and extends what Glen Gould (1984) terms the participant listener who “is an associate whose tastes, preferences, and inclinations even now alter peripherally the experiences to which he gives his attention” (p. 122). However concerns over whether or not the listener is a ‘competent’ participant, or even end-user, misses the point of the game-like nature of Duchamp's original pieces, Cage's notion of indeterminacy and, I would suggest, Miller's interpretation and application of both. Miller views the user’s interaction with Errata Erratum as aleatoric, suggesting that chance operations are engendered through interactions with the graphic interfaces (Miller, 2004b). Errata Erratum also demonstrates Miller’s use of Dub style improvisation but turns control over to the audience. In doing so, Miller distinguishes the act of composition (the design and creation of the Errata Erratum interface) from that of realisation and reception. Miller is not only giving up control of the outcome but also re-imagining the 'product' of his creative endeavour as a system or process rather than a realized ‘work’. Whether or not the listener is 'competent' to engage with this process is largely irrelevant. That being said, the limitations placed on the audience by the restricted source materials and possible configurations distinguishes the piece from Cage’s indeterminate scores,

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which rely far more heavily on the interpretation of both performer and audience. Though significant, such differences are reducible to the degree to which Errata Erratum is indeterminate of the composer’s intentions. Errata Erratum does demonstrate strong links with the methodologies and aesthetic concerns of the experimental music tradition and bears out a number Miller’s claims in relation to his work.

Discussion

As an artist Paul Miller is first and foremost interested with ideas and, in a manner similar to Cage, thrives on the creative (mis)interpretation of others’ work. Miller draws links between his own work, Hip Hop and the experimental music tradition, specifically citing Cage and the minimalist composers as important precursors. Miller appears to have a broad but not deep understanding of the Western Art music tradition. He is conversant with key composers, their music and ideas but is often unaware or misunderstands crucial specifics. Miller is primarily concerned with the expression of abstract ideas through his work and thus any discussion of his influences tends towards philosophy and aesthetics rather than specific musical traits. That Miller equates Cage with James Brown, Basquiat and Afrika Bambaata suggests his influences are as diverse and non-linear as his writing.

Clear precedence is further confused by Miller’s appropriation of the visual art tradition as a more clear precedent for his musical works. The musical use of noise in Miller’s work, for example, displays strong congruencies with the experimental music tradition but Miller himself attributes this to the influence of Iannis Xenakis and Marcel Duchamp’s use of found art objects. These stated influences appear somewhat counter-intuitive given that Miller acknowledges the influence of Edgard Varèse, John Cage and a range of other composers whose use of noise in a musical context appears closer to Miller’s own.

Many of Miller’s claims regarding the influence of the experimental music tradition are a reflection on perceived areas of congruence, arrived at after Miller had already developed his own compositional aesthetic. Miller’s use of electronic sound sources and treatments, repetition, minimal musical means and musical use of noise are all likely the result of his background in Hip Hop and Dub. Miller observes, correctly, that there are strong similarities between the experimental tradition and the ways that composers of Electronica approach and engag with the Errata Erratum – Online Systems Music 189

creation, recording and performance of musical works. This is in line with Miller's comments that he is aware of the historical context of his own work. Despite the non-linear nature of many of Miller’s writings and interviews it is possible to identify areas of congruence and similarity between his work and the experimental music tradition through discussion of Errata Erratum.

Figure 30 plots Miller’s key musical and conceptual traits in relation to his stated and inferred influences drawn from the experimental tradition and Electronica. Acknowledged influences are identified with solid lines whereas influences that are inferred, though unacknowledged, are represented by dashed lines.

Figure 30: Musical and conceptual traits found in ‘Errata Erratum’

Miller’s use of repetition and static harmonic and rhythmic content in many of his works is congruent with techniques employed by the minimalist composers. Miller claims his use of repetition as a structural device parallels minimalism, and argues that much of his work is systems based in a manner congruent with the experimental music tradition. Whilst Miller’s writings acknowledge these

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congruencies, he suggests that they may be due to some indirect influence. That these traits are held in common with much contemporary Hip Hop production indicates that direct influence of the experimental music tradition here is unlikely.

Paralleling the active participation required by both audiences and performers within certain experimental works, Miller seeks to involve his audience in conjunction or in place of the performer. Citing Cage as an influence, Miller also claims to utilise both chance processes and indeterminacy in his compositions. These assertions are borne out in Miller’s general practice but exist within the context of a complex gamut of influences ranging from Electronica to experimental music, visual art and politics. Though Miller identifies particular traits within his work as ‘experimental’ they are more likely the result of a confluence of influences. Miller’s claims that Hip-Hop has unconsciously absorbed the core tenets of experimental music arise from his observation of similarities between the two traditions rather than an obvious historical or musical precedence. Miller’s positioning of Cage's Imaginary Landscapes No. 1 as a precursor to turntablism relates specifically to the use of the turntable as an instrument rather than to a clear influence of this work on Hip-Hop. Such precedence, though obviously of significance to Miller, does not reify his claims. The lack of evidence for how Cage’s composition may have impacted DJ practice in Electronica suggests that such similarities arise from the unrelated, though parallel, adoptions of music technology in Hip Hop and Electronica.

It is clear that Errata Erratum exhibits several traits that are congruent with works from the experimental music tradition. Though ostensibly referencing the musical work of Duchamp, Errata Erratum demonstrates a clear influence with regard to indeterminate structure in line with John Cage’s aesthetic. The piece also demonstrates minimalist traits by way of constrained harmonic and rhythmic content in a system designed to produce repetition and stasis. In practice, the construction of the interface and static musical elements imposes a minimalist like outcome on the user. Similarly, the layering of incommensurate drum loops could be likened to the polyrhythms or phasing present in some minimalist works. However, these similarities can also be attributed to the influence of contemporary Hip-Hop production on Miller’s work because the web-based interface mimics the use of turntables which in turn directs the user to create polyrhythms. Finally, though the multimedia nature of the work suggests parallels to La Monte Young Errata Erratum – Online Systems Music 191

the work could be understood equally as drawing on the strong history of works in the visual arts.

Miller’s interpretation of Cage’s use of indeterminacy has led him to develop an improvisational performance and composition aesthetic, a position at odds with Cage’s original intentions. Despite this, Errata Erratum conforms to Cage's notion of indeterminacy in that, by releasing the work into the public domain, Miller gives up control of the work’s realisation, leading to an essentially nonintentional outcome. The work utilises a genuine process-based composition technique that places both performer and audience in the roles of active participants. Miller views the DJ mix as a way to deconstruct the roles of audience and performer, so perhaps this could also be used to deconstruct the associations of art and popular music. The design of the control panel used in Errata Erratum mimics the function of a DJ mixer and encourages the audience to create what might be termed ‘Dub’ versions or ‘live’ remixes of the work. This is modelled closely on Miller’s own performance practice and it is interesting to note that the means by which Miller achieves a Cagean approach to indeterminacy is through commonly utilised techniques present in Electronica. As such, the work exists at a fascinating crossover between the experimental music tradition and Electronica, representing a clear synergy of the two.

Though Miller’s work displays congruencies with the experimental music tradition, his diverse and overlapping influences make it difficult to synthesize the source of any one particular idea or musical trait. Miller’s work and writings do point towards an experimental influence, and the analysis of Errata Erratum supports Miller’s claims, in at least as much as the work is genuinely indeterminate. Miller’s pastiche-like approach to his music and influences indeed create an rhizomatic interconnection of ideas from which Miller draws freely and indiscriminately. While it is difficult to divine precise lines of influence in this complexity it is however, possible to discern congruencies that point to influence by the experimental music tradition on Miller’s work.

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PART IV: A CASE FOR PROGIGNERE

Conclusions and Implications for Future Research

Returning to the opening themes of this dissertation, in the late 1990s critics, journalists and music scholars began referring to a loosely associated group of artists within Electronica who, it was claimed, represented a “new breed of experimentalism” (Cox and Warner, 2004; p. 365) predicated on the work of composers such as John Cage, Karlheinz Stockhausen and Steve Reich. Although anecdotal evidence existed, such claims by, or about, these Clever Children were not adequately substantiated and are symptomatic of a “loss of history” (Holmes, 2002; p. 273) in relation to electronic music forms in popular culture. This dissertation has examined the musical works of three Clever Children that are claimed to exhibit the influence of the experimental music tradition. Within the Collective Case Study, questions of influence were examined using an analytical framework comprising musical analysis, interview and document review, informed by the historical developments and key musical and conceptual traits of the experimental music tradition and Electronica. This analytical framework facilitated an approach to the complex relationships between these artists, their works and their supposed experimental forebears by responding to the three sub- questions posed in the introduction of this dissertation.

The historical narratives detailing the impact of the experimental music tradition and Electronica on the emergence of the Clever Children were detailed in Part II of this dissertation. Though necessarily selective, they provide an overview and context of the broad trends and concerns that have emerged as purportedly antecedent to the Clever Children. With regard to the experimental music tradition this includes the musical application of noise and electronic sounds, often through the application of new music technologies; the use of process based compositional strategies including aleatory / indeterminacy and; the adoption of stasis and

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repetition with regard to musical form and content29. From these developments a list of key musical and conceptual traits were derived from generally observable trends including the parity of musical and non-musical sound, ambience and noise; the use of electronically generated, recorded and treated sound; the giving up of compositional control to musical processes; the re-evaluation of all aspects of the musical work, its creation and realisation; the exploration of repetition, stasis, drones and psycho-acoustic phenomena; dramatically expanded musical form; and a re-engagement with modal harmony (as presented at p. 73).

As detailed in the second section of Part II, Electronica represents a wide array of musical aesthetics and performance practice. The emergence of Dub, Disco and Hip Hop gave way to House, Garage and Techno, which were transplanted to the UK Rave scene giving birth to Hardcore, Gabba, Jungle and a range of post-Rave Electronica encompassing the work of the Clever Children. The development of new musical forms within Electronica is tied intimately with the application of electronic sound sources, treatments and recording technology; market forces governing the production and consumption of dance music; and changes to the role of composer, performer and listener that accompanied the re-evaluation of the creation, realisation and reception of musical works. Arising key traits and their relationship to the evolving history of Electronica are summarised at p. 115. The discussion of the historical narratives and the accompanying lists of traits provide a basis for comparison between the two traditions and informs the analytical framework applied to the Case Studies.

What areas of congruence or confluence exist between the experimental music tradition, Electronica and specific works of the Clever Children in which experimental influence has been claimed?

Significant overlap exists between aesthetic and compositional concerns of the experimental music tradition and Electronica (see Figure 2, p.118). In particular, there is a strong congruence in the use of repetition as a structural device; the re- evaluation of the roles of composer, performer and audience in both traditions; the use of electronic devices and treatments in composition and performance; the use

29 See again Cascone (2000), Cox and Warner (2004), Emmerson (2000, 2007), Holmes (2002), Martin (2002), Neill (2002), Prendergast (1995), Toop (1995), Veal (2007), Witts and Young (1996) Discussion and Implications for Future Research 195

of pre-recorded musical materials; and a privileging of timbre and rhythm over and above harmony and melody. Such congruence would appear to corroborate the claims of appropriation and influence between the experimental music tradition and Electronica in the writings of Cox and Warner (2004) and others. When examined critically however this confluence of musical ideas is the result of parallel developments stemming from new approaches and advancements in technology, prevailing market forces and external influences held in common between the two traditions. Though not precluding individual cases where influence may have occurred, this indicates that the experimental music tradition has not had a significant direct influence on Electronica as a whole. Instead these findings identify a credible alternate and complimentary musical lineage of the Clever Children that conforms to many of the musical and aesthetic traits within Electronica that might otherwise point to the influence the experimental music tradition identified outlined in this dissertation.

The congruent nature of parallel developments in the experimental music tradition and Electronica suggests that certain similarities should be expected between individual works that draw on elements from either tradition. This is borne out through the analyses of works by Bernstein, Rimbaud and Miller. Though emerging from distinct genre areas within Electronica, there is significant overlap between these three composers, their works and the experimental music tradition. Figure 31 (next page) maps the key traits and areas of congruence or confluence present in the experimental music tradition, Electronica and the works of the Clever Children under discussion in this research project. As in earlier figures, the blue area represents the key traits present in the works of the Clever Children, whilst the area in yellow represents the experimental music tradition and the area in red Electronica. Areas of overlap represent confluence or congruence between these key traits with annotations RR (Robin Rimbaud), PM (Paul Miller), HB (Howie B.) and All, referring to the occurrence of traits within specific case studies. This serves to highlight the unique nature of each case while also demonstrating the high degree of commonality that exists between the work of Bernstein, Rimbaud and Miller; Electronica and; the experimental music tradition. Those traits not contained within the area representing the case studies should be understood as key traits present in the experimental music tradition and Electronica that are not present in any of the case studies. By extension, those

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traits present in the case studies that do not align with the experimental music tradition or Electronica are placed within the blue area.

In what way do these areas support or undermine the claims of influence made by or on behalf of the Clever Children?

Though quite distinct in conception, creation and realisation when examined collectively the works of Rimbaud, Miller and Bernstein bear strong resemblances to the salient features of the experimental tradition. The composers and works have emulated, to varying degrees, the outcomes of experimental works, producing pieces that are created, sound or are realised and received in a superficially similar manner to works within the experimental music tradition, while not necessarily adhering to the process by which they were created. In each instance there has been shown to be a significant gap between the stated aesthetic concerns and influences of these artists, specifically in regard to the influence of the experimental tradition, and their practice as evidenced through the works analysed. Intriguingly, the willingness for these Clever Children to acknowledge some form of experimental influence on their own work is inversely proportional to how literally they adhere to musical and conceptual traits of the experimental music tradition.

Bernstein, whose remix of Eight Lines is the closest fit in terms of clear musical similarities with the experimental music tradition, is resistant to the claims that his work is influenced by the experimental music tradition whereas Rimbaud and Miller, who appropriate ideas from the experimental tradition in a more abstract and creative manner, strongly advocate the influence of the experimental composers on their work. This points both to the creative interpretation and application of experimental ideas by the Clever Children in making such influences their own.

In each of the works, the composers make use of repetition as a structural device; minimal harmonic and melodic content; the musical use of ‘noise’ and; the use of electronic sound sources and treatments. Across these works – Bernstein’s Eight Lines Remix, Rimbaud’s Surface Noise and Miller’s Errata Erratum – the use of repetition as a structural device conforms to use of the technique within Electronica, as does the use of minimal harmonic and melodic content.

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Figure 31: Overview of key traits of experimental music and Electronica plotted against traits present in the Collective Case Study

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In general, the use of electronic sound sources and treatments can also be said to conform to the norms of Electronica. In the instance of Rimbaud’s Surface Noise, the exclusive use of ‘non-musical’ sounds differentiates the work from the dominant paradigm within Electronica. Rimbaud’s use of non-musical sounds also serves to engender an emphasis on timbre and texture in Surface Noise that is at the exclusion of traditional notions of melody, harmony and rhythm, serving to further align the piece with works within the experimental music tradition.

Common to the pieces by Rimbaud and Miller is the use of an improvised musical form that relates to each artist’s interpretation of ‘indeterminacy’. In both cases the composers have reinterpreted the notion of an indeterminate work being divorced from intention, repeatability and controllable outcomes. Instead Miller and Rimbaud utilise improvisation to achieve pieces that are unrepeatable and whose outcomes are unknown. In doing so however, they invest a level of intention in the realisation of the pieces under discussion that points to their creative interpretation and application of ‘indeterminacy’ informed by, but distinct from, the experimental music tradition. Though arrived at by distinct processes improvised and indeterminate works both require the composer to give up direct control of the outcome of the compositional process and produce unrepeatable performance events with respect to form and/or content. This is more pronounced in the case of Rimbaud’s Surface Noise, which engenders no separation between the acts of composition and realisation and the personages of composer and performer. Related to Rimbaud and Miller’s use of indeterminacy is an improvisatory approach to mixing or remixing pre-recorded material. Rimbaud, Miller and Bernstein all proscribe to a Dub and/or Hip-Hop influenced approach to dealing with pre-recorded materials that sees each artist create ‘live’ improvised mixes as part of their composition or performance process. Though it is not possible to draw wide-ranging conclusions from this limited number of analyses, the fact that this approach is evident in each case suggests that an improvisatory approach to composition and performance may be a feature of the work of other Clever Children within Electronica.

Finally, it is worth noting the stated preference for ‘process based’ composition that each of the artists claims as a feature of their work. In the case of Bernstein this claim refers not to an ‘experimental’ approach to process driven composition or performance but to Bernstein’s acknowledgement of the importance of the Discussion and Implications for Future Research 199

compositional process to his work. Despite this, Bernstein’s remix of Eight Lines does exhibit the type of ‘sounding’ process expounded on by Reich in his essay Music As A Gradual Process (1968). The works by Rimbaud and Miller demonstrate a much stronger similarity to the types of processes that are a feature of much experimental music. In both instances the composers utilise deliberate compositional processes that, while not synonymous with those used in the experimental tradition, do reflect a similar concern with the process of creation and performance over and above the outcomes.

Through insights gleaned in discussion of these sub-questions it is now possible to come to an informed position regarding the primary research question:

Can the historical narratives linking the Clever Children with an experimental music tradition be substantiated with reference to their artistic practice?

This research has revealed that the Clever Children under discussion do not represent a clear succession to the experimental tradition outlined by authors such as Cascone (2000), Cox and Warner (2004), Emmerson (2000, 2007), Holmes (2002), Martin (2002), Neill (2002), Prendergast (1995), Toop (1995), Veale (2007), Witts and Young (1996) and others. Instead they delineate a new field of music that can be best described as appropriating elements of the experimental music tradition outlined in this dissertation and applying these to new contexts in which such ‘influences’ mingle with a multiplicity of congruent and contrary musical and aesthetic ideals. Embedded within the convergent context of Electronica and the experimental music tradition discussed in Part II, the Clever Children have borrowed from a variety of sources creating works that suggest a new field of musical expression and enquiry. Like the experimental tradition itself the composers under discussion here represent significant diversity in the approach each artist brings to their work.

None of the works conform to traditional Western Art music conceptions of composition, realisation or reception of musical works and as such adhere to an ‘experimental’ approach to music making. Bernstein’s remix of Eight Lines can be described as through composed, non-performative and passively received. Though the creative process may, as identified by Bernstein, have involved some level of improvisation the realisation of the work in recorded form, clearly Discussion and Implications for Future Research 200

structured sections of the piece and the heavy use of samples taken from Reich’s original work imply a deliberate through composed structure. Though Bernstein’s remix may be intended or find its way into a dance club context, the work is not intended to be performative in the traditional sense. Instead the work is realised as a virtual construct of samples, loops and beats the juxtaposition of which is not intended for live reproduction. The nature of the work means that the audience’s reception of the piece is through some form of playback medium and divorced from its performance. Thus the reception of the piece is passive rather than interactive, any direct engagement with the piece being reactive or responsive (listening, dancing) rather than causal (having some impact on the outcome of the pieces realisation). Of the works under discussion, Eight Lines is most in line with the norms of Electronica, which, barring some notable exceptions, generally comprises through-composed recorded works received by the audience via some form of playback medium. However, precedence can also be seen in John Cage’s Williams Mix, which is a through-composed non-performative work that is realised only in recorded form and received passively by the listener.

Rimbaud’s Surface Noise is closer to the norms of Western Art music in that the work, though improvised rather than through composed, is realised through performance in front of an audience (though admittedly in a non-traditional performance environment). Each performance of Surface Noise is an improvised juxtaposition of pre-recorded materials sourced as part of the composition process. Though available in recorded form, the improvised nature of the piece leads to a different outcome each time it is performed. Pieces such as Cornelius Cardew’s Treatise, along with certain of Cage’s indeterminate works, express similar concerns in that they are realised through performance in front of an audience and allow the performer significant freedoms in interpreting the score with relation to the sonic content and structure of the work in a manner similar to improvisation. As such the recordings of the work that do exist are best understood as a document of the performance rather than the realisation of the work (as per Bernstein’s remix of Eight Lines). Surface Noise challenges traditional conceptions of reception as the work is performed in a non-traditional and somewhat novel environment of a double-decker bus.

In contrast to Rimbaud’s and Bernstein’s work, Miller’s Errata Erratum is an interactive multi-media work that, much like Miller’s writings, exists not in a Discussion and Implications for Future Research 201

clearly delineated categorisation but rather in a middle ground between performance and recording, improvisation and through-composition. Of the works under discussion, Errata Erratum deviates the furthest from works of the experimental music tradition. First and foremost, the interactive web-based nature of the work was not possible until the late twentieth century and early twenty-first century, which saw the widespread availability and adoption of computer technologies including the Internet. This is not to suggest that there is no precedence for Miller’s work in Western Art music. In fact there are several examples of similar interactive computer and web-based works, for example William Duckworth’s Cathedral30. Miller’s work is then congruent not only with the aesthetic concerns of the experimental music tradition but also with works within the Western Art music tradition produced subsequent to the period of experimental music documented by Nyman. The piece is realised through audience interaction with the web-based interface but also seeks to emulate turntables – a playback mechanism. The piece is performative inasmuch as the work is not realised as a recording and the user chooses which samples to play back in a similar manner to the performance technique Rimbaud employs for Surface Noise. However, the limitations of Errata Erratum’s interface cause a far more linear outcome than Surface Noise and the performer/audience engages with the work as a musical toy or playback mechanism that exists independently of the temporal nature of a performative work. Similarly, the web interface removes the realisation of the work from the direct control of the composer and allows the audience to create an improvised mix of the various audio excerpts. However Miller has limited the sonic options available to the audience, causing the outcome of interplay with the interface to become somewhat prescribed.

Implications for Future Research

The breadth of practice represented by the works of Rimbaud, Miller and Bernstein suggests a field within which similar works of contemporary experimental electronic music may be situated and suggests several areas for further study. First and foremost this research indicates the need for a more clear and reliable scholarly documentation of the history of electronic music in the context of popular culture in the latter part of the twentieth and early twenty-first

30 See http://cathedral.monroestreet.com Discussion and Implications for Future Research 202

centuries. Beyond the need for an historical record in its own right, this type of research would provide a helpful context within which future research could take place. One of the contributions this investigation hopes to make is an understanding of how to best deal with the vast, in some cases undocumented, historical context in which the artists and works discussed exist. Without new work, the loss of history that already exists will only become more pronounced. Rather than simply documenting musical styles and developments for their own sake, such research is important as it provides both an awareness and appreciation of the unprecedented changes to the way music is conceptualised, created and consumed.

Electronica, indeed music in general, comprises constantly evolving genres heavily tied to fashion and popular culture. In such a context there is a legitimate concern that any new research will become swamped by developments rendering even the most fastidious enquiry outdated, incomplete or irrelevant. However, this is a common feature of all research projects and rather than shy away from such exciting new territory, researchers have unique opportunities to document contemporary musical and cultural zeitgeists as they happen. Research that on its own may reveal only limited and specific information will, when accompanied by similar investigations over a prolonged period, allow for a fuller understanding to emerge.

In effect, contemporary researchers have the opportunity to contribute to the documentation of a ‘musical history’ for future generations. Such an endeavour may be highly complex, but has the distinct advantage of allowing the researcher to engage directly with living people, music and cultures. Many of the key figures within Electronica are still alive and in some cases still creating and regularly performing their work. Furthermore there is a growing trend among practitioners such as Rimbaud and Miller to document their work and ideas through articles, interviews and blogs. In many ways these para-musical outputs are a boon to researchers of Electronica but pose a new set of problems to do with the ephemeral nature of online sources. Domain names often change, data may be modified or deleted after posting and in some cases sites or blogs are left to decay or cease to be entirely. User groups, bulleting boards and, increasingly, social networking sites may also provide valuable documentary evidence or contact points with emerging artists and scenes though they often require a high level of Discussion and Implications for Future Research 203

critical evaluation and participation on behalf of the researcher. It would be a missed opportunity to ignore the valuable information that can be gleaned from such insider sources given that some proponents of Electronica may be unavailable to future generations of music researchers.

A good starting point would be to investigate and build upon the development and relationship between the popular forms of electronic music in the late 1970s and early 1980s. This was a seminal period for electronic music in the twentieth century due to the emergence of popular music forms created entirely by electronic (rather than mechanical) means without the need for, or costs associated with, human musicians. This intersection of musical and technological innovation coupled with driving market forces is evidenced again and again in the development of Electronica. This coalescence of art, ingenuity and commerce represents a central narrative in the development of Electronica and one that may prove a beneficial framing reference for future research in the field. Michael Veale’s 2007 work Dub: Soundscapes and Shattered Songs in Jamaican Reggae, published during the final stages of this research, is one example that addresses exactly these concerns in relation to Dub, providing a useful foundation for more detailed musical scholarship.

After the development of Dub, Hip-Hop, Disco, Techno and house music the next key area for historical documentation is the coalescence of musical styles described in this dissertation as the ‘UK Sound’ focussing on the British dance music scene of the early 1990s. Though encompassing a range of genres this period is significant as it marks a split in Electronica between works created primarily for the purposes of dancing/club environment and others created for recreational listening. Rather than trying to follow the minutiae of each new developing genre and subgenre in this period a more useful approach would be to examine this key transition as it provides a context for later developments in contemporary experimental electronic music. Another useful starting point for future researchers would be Cox and Warner’s Audio Culture: Readings in Modern Music (2004). Audio Culture is a particularly interesting sample of scholarly and non-scholarly writings many of which touch on Electronica in its various forms. More usefully, Audio Culture serves as a good introduction to the journalists, critics and researchers have worked to document various elements of Electronica. Discussion and Implications for Future Research 204

In addition to an expanded and thorough history of Electronica, there is a need for music scholarship to engage with and understand the processes of recording production. It is almost impossible to understand the bulk of Electronica without some sort of appreciation for the manner in which it is created and disseminated. Electronica is a result of a production process that sees the studio as a compositional tool and is influenced heavily by the intended consumption medium and environment. The medium and the tools used by producers of this music influence the content and structure of musical works in a way that is not obvious unless the researcher is aware of them. Both Channan (1995) and Katz (2005) have addressed exactly these concerns with reference to the broader context of audio recording production but there is a need for similar work that examines the specifics of Electronica production.

One example of the type of influence such devices have played on the development of Electronica is the way in which the operational design of early sequencers, samplers and drum machines encouraged composers to use repeating musical elements locked to a constant pulse. Subsequent developments in music technology have allowed for a much greater freedom of musical expression and yet much Electronica still adheres to the use of repeated elements locked to a constant pulse. Intriguingly many of the new tools used by composers of Electronica deliberately model the interfaces and sounds of earlier ‘limited’ technologies. Moreover, certain ‘classic’ devices such as the acid bassline generating TB-303 have attracted an almost cult-status among producers that has seen them appreciate in value as they have gotten more outdated. This raises a range of questions regarding the relationship between composers, electronic instruments and musical content. Research into these questions could beneficially examine the development of the first widely available drum machines, sequencers and samplers as well as the short and long-term influence of such devices on Electronica. Such research might also address the ways in which digital recording and sequencing technologies, which allow audio and midi data to be rearranged at the whim of the operator, have developed and impacted on the role of music production. A starting point for such research would be documenting key producers, production styles and production techniques. One approach would involve the identification and analysis of popular and influential (often not the same thing) recorded works with specific concern for the audio production

Discussion and Implications for Future Research 205

process; documenting and analysing the audio production process of such works through interviews, observation and practitioner based research and; cross referencing the information gained about each recording against those from similar time periods and styles as well as to historical developments in audio recording technologies. This approach would focus on the production process, analysis of recorded texts and historical developments of audio production in order to provide a multi-faceted response to a complex field of study.

Returning to the focus and limitations of this particular research project, further research would also be beneficial into the broader field of contemporary experimental music identified in this dissertation. This subject area extends far beyond the boundaries implicit in a doctoral thesis and this dissertation has sketched only an outline of the music and current practitioners. Research in this field may include an examination of contemporary experimental music in the rock and post-punk genres; further documenting and analysing the works of artists in the field; and examining the changing place of ‘experimental’ musics in popular and Western Art music traditions. Building on the work presented in this research, further research in this field requires the application of an appropriately nuanced analytical model coupled with historical enquiry and ethnography.

One useful line of enquiry in this regard would be to examine the progression from punk to new-wave and post-punk musics ending with so called post-rock bands such as Sonic Youth, who display distinct experimental tendencies epitomised in their 1999 album, Goodbye 20th Century, featuring performances of works by a range of experimental composers including John Cage and Cornelius Cardew. Tied up in this progression is the cross-pollination between such ‘experimental’ popular music artists on the development of contemporary popular music. The notion and realisation of experimentalism within popular music forms is a potentially fascinating area for research and one that likely relates both implicitly and explicitly to the development of new musical sounds, styles and ideas. Martin’s Avant Rock (2002) helps to outline this area of study and Theo Cateforis’ paper, Total Trash: The Analysis of Post Punk Music (1993) may provide some useful reference points for both the selection and engagement with appropriate works. A final area of enquiry worthy of future study is the use of the ‘experimental’ nomenclature in popular music. Reference points for experimentalism appear to be in constant flux and related to the normalisation of Discussion and Implications for Future Research 206

what were at one time considered experimental traits. Surveying both popular and Western Art musics this research would seek to establish the ways in which the idea and process of experimental music have been used by and impacted on musicians, composers and critics over the course of the twentieth century. Such research would go some way to producing a ‘true’ history of experimental music over the last century by exploring the artists who have existed on the fringes of popular and Western Art music and the reasons for their co-option and / or rejection by the musical mainstream.

From Clever Children to Voices in the Desert

More than thirty years have passed since Michael Nyman first wrote about the experimental music tradition. During this time the various forms of Electronica have realised many of the promises and prophesies presented by the composers and works of the experimental tradition. The future of music has resulted in a sonic landscape in which myriad musical forms from the entirety of human history are available on demand to be used and abused by creators of new musical works. The democratisation of creative technology has, and will continue, to break down the arbitrary distinctions between the acts of production and consumption, as consumers become creators, critics and disseminators of new cultural currency. The rhizomatic and anarchic nature of these exciting new developments in music and culture have the potential to cause unprecedented confusion, as the rapid exchange, adoption, rejection and reinterpretation of ideas are flung together in the supercollider of contemporary culture.

These factors have contributed to a loss of musical history engendered by rapid cultural and technological change while challenges to the acts of composition, realisation and reception have fundamentally altered the way current and future generations conceptualise, create and consume music. Our musical world is changing in unimaginable and unprecedented ways and artists on the edges of popular culture are often the very ones driving the innovations that inform mainstream tastes and consumption patterns. In this context the experimentalists at the fringes of art, music and literature have become increasingly important as the bleeding edge is absorbed time and again into the maelstrom only to re- emerge, driven by new challenges and possibilities. As such the Clever Children discussed in this research may be voices in the desert, the prophets of the future of

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music, declaring the ways in which the music of our time will impact on generations yet to come. Rather than shy away from their ravings there is a need for musical scholarship to explore their visions and relay their stories, not as an act of documentary interest but as a vital part of the conversation that research should be making with popular, and unpopular, culture.

This research has engaged with the emerging narratives spun by and about the Clever Children in order to redress, in part, the loss of history faced by researchers in this field. This research has done this by placing the Clever Children within an historical context through examining the relationships to their immediate forebears in Electronica and appropriated parentage in the experimental music tradition. In doing so this research promotes an awareness and discussion of the alternate and divergent musical practices that inform the music of our own time and may influence the music of our future. From Clever Children to voices in the desert it is beholden on music researchers to listen carefully through the maelstrom of competing and colliding musical ideas to find the prophetic and prodigious innovators whose work challenges and reveals who we are and what we might become.

Discussion and Implications for Future Research 208

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Appendix D Informed Consent Information Sheet Supplied to all Participants.

Clever Children:

The Sons and Daughters of Experimental Music

Information Sheet

Who is conducting the research

David Carter

Griffith University Queensland Conservatorium

Ph: +61 7 3875 6345

Email: [email protected]

Why the research is being conducted

This research aims to document the work, theories, aesthetic concerns and philosophies of a selection of musicians, producers and composers who have been influenced by the experimental music tradition.

What you will be asked to do

Should you choose to participate in this research, you will be asked to complete a questionnaire relating to your artistic / musical practice. This may involve answering questions relating to your musical / artistic influences, compositions, aesthetic and philosophical concerns and how and why you create music. The questionnaire should take about 30 minutes.

Appendix E 247

Risks to you

Participation in this research poses no physical risks to you as the research asks only that you identify your perceptions of your own music and practice. As far as possible this research will seek to ensure that you are not misrepresented, verballed and / or defamed. In order to achieve this, specific information relating to your participation in this research will be made available to you for comment prior to publication.

Your confidentiality

The conduct of this research involves the collection, access and / or use of your identified personal information. The information collected from this research will be reported in specific terms and will involve identification of participants. All data will be kept in a locked filing cabinet in the Queensland Conservatorium at Griffith University for a period of 5 years before being destroyed.

Your participation is voluntary

Your participation in this research is voluntary and you do not need to answer any question unless you wish to do so.

Mechanism for distribution and return

This questionaire was distributed to all participants via email. Completed questionaires can be returned via email to David Carter at [email protected].

The ethical conduct of this research

Griffith University conducts research in accordance with the National Statement on Ethical Conduct in Research Involving Humans. If you have any matter of concern regarding the research that you wish to discuss you may contact David Carter, or if you prefer an independent person you may contact the Manager, Research Ethics: Office for Research, Bray Centre, Griffith University, Kessels Road, Nathan, Qld 4111, telephone (07) 3875 5585 or email research- [email protected].

Feedback to you

Appendix E 248

Specific information relating to individual participants will be made available to each participant prior to publication for comment. A report of the general findings from the study will also be made available to all participants.

Expressing consent

If you choose to complete and return this questionnaire you will be deemed to have consented to participate in this research. You are free to withdraw from this research at any time by notifying David Carter of your wishes.

Please print this sheet and retain it for later reference.

Appendix E 249

Appendix E CD of Audio Examples

Track List

Audio Example 1: Eight Lines Remix – Howie B

Audio Example 2: Surface Noise Section One – Robin Rimbaud

Audio Example 3: Surface Noise – Sonic Interruption

Audio Example 4: Surface Noise – Unprocessed fragment of the Westminster Quarters

Audio Example 5: Surface Noise – Big Ben Striking the Hour

Audio Example 6: Surface Noise – Short Loop Derived from Recording of Big Ben Bell

Audio Example 7: Surface Noise – Heavily Filtered Recording of Big Ben

Audio Example 8: Surface Noise – Filtered and distorted Westminster Quarters

Audio Example 9: Surface Noise – Filtered and heavily processed Westminster Quarters

Audio Example 10: Surface Noise – Westminster Quarters pitch shifted and filtered.

Audio Example 11: Surface Noise – Sustained chord produced with Meta-Synth

Audio Example 12: Surface Noise – Percussion Loop 1

Audio Example 13: Surface Noise – Use of Delays to Affect Changes in Rhythm

Audio Example 14: Surface Noise – Percussion Loop 2

Audio Example 15: Surface Noise – Toned Percussion Affected by a Resonant Filter

Note: Audio Examples are included in this dissertation under the provision of Section 103C of the Australian Copyright Act which allows for fair dealing with audio-visual items for the purposes of research or study.

Appendix E 250